Red Pox 



their haunches dog-fashion in the middle of a meadow, listening 

 for mice. Two years ago, in September, 1 was going through 

 a piece of low, swampy woodland where every leaf dripped and 

 shimmered from the late shower. The blue jays and thrushes 

 were scolding at a hawk somewhere among the trees, and in 

 order to find out what it was that disturbed them I imitated the 

 cry of a young bird in distress as well as I could. In a few 

 minutes a Cooper's hawk appeared and alighted in a low tree not 

 far away; but he was not the only hunter that I had deceived, 

 for while I was watching the hawk 1 caught sight of a young 

 fox coming from another direction and already within three or four 

 rods of me. The woods were fairly free from underbrush just 

 there, and he was walking leisurely along over the wet leaves, 

 looking about eagerly on all sides and then up at the blue jays 

 that were screeching overhead. He looked as if just waked up 

 from his nap, and kept shutting his eyes and yawning until his 

 jaws stood at right angles with each other. Although but little 

 more than half-grown, he had lost all trace of the fat, woolly 

 appearance of a fox-cub; his new autumn coat of red fur was as 

 bright and smooth and his legs as black as anything could be. 

 He was absolutely unconscious of my presence, and for a few 

 moments I saw the woods as they should be seen, and forgot that 

 I myself was there; but only the fox and the yellow-eyed hawk 

 and the blue jays and the wet leaves after the rain; all grouped 

 to be seen once so clearly as to never grow indistinct in memory. 



When the fox was within a few yards of me he stopped 

 short in his tracks and stared for a few seconds, but without tak- 

 ing fright; on the contrary, he came still nearer, until, when only 

 a few steps away, he caught my scent, and turning went bound- 

 ing off among the trees. Almost always when you meet a fox 

 in the woods he pretends not to see you, but changes his course 

 casually, as if, perhaps, he had just heard a mouse over there 

 among the stumps. He does not increase his speed in the 

 slightest degree until he is behind some tree or rock; then away 

 he goes at a tremendous rate, always keeping the tree between 

 you and himself until well out of gunshot. 



The thin, querulous, husky barking of the fox is not by any 

 means an attractive sound, particularly when heard in the distance 

 on still winter nights; but at times they utter a long, wild screech 

 that would do credit to a panther. This cry is heard oftenest 



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