WINTER PICTURES 



rocks, the fox silent, the dog very vociferous. But 

 after a time the superior weight and strength of the 

 latter prevails and the fox is brought to light nearly 

 dead. Reynard winks and eyes me suspiciously, 

 as I stroke his head and praise his heroic defense; 

 but the hunter quickly and mercifully puts an end 

 to his fast-ebbing life. His canine teeth seem un- 

 usually large and formidable, and the dog bears 

 the marks of them in many deep gashes upon his 

 face and nose. His pelt is quickly stripped off, 

 revealing his lean, sinewy form. 



The fox was not as poor in flesh as I expected 

 to see him, though I '11 warrant he had tasted very 

 little food for days, perhaps for weeks. How his 

 great activity and endurance can be kept up, on 

 the spare diet he must of necessity be confined to, 

 is a mystery. Snow, snow everywhere, for weeks 

 and for months, and intense cold, and no henroost 

 accessible, and no carcass of sheep or pig in the 

 neighborhood! The hunter, tramping miles and 

 leagues through his haunts, rarely sees any sign of 

 his having caught anything. Rarely, though, in the 

 course of many winters, he may have seen evidence 

 of his having surprised a rabbit or a partridge in 

 the woods. He no doubt at this season lives largely 

 upon the memory (or the fat) of the many good 

 dinners he had in the plentiful summer and fall. 



As we crossed the mountain on our return, we 

 saw at one point blood-stains upon the snow, and, 

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