On a Fox Trail 



foot of the mountain. The smallest dark- 

 colored object in that vast, dazzling expanse 

 of snow is almost startlingly conspicuous. 

 We bring a fieldglass to bear upon the 

 speck and behold! it develops into our 

 wandering fox. He has just finished his 

 long hunt, and is pawing the snow from 

 a flat rock on top of the wall, where he ex 

 pects to lie down and take his mid-day nap 

 in the sun. We take turns watching him 

 until he has made his bed, turned about five 

 or six times like a dog preparing to lie down 

 in a cold spot, and curled himself up with 

 his great bushy tail wrapped around him 

 like a blanket. There, at the end of his 

 devious trail, we will let him lie, undis 

 turbed, hoping that by this time his hungry 

 stomach has been filled, and that he will 

 enjoy pleasant dreams until darkness again 

 sets him wandering over the white world. 



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