18 THE FALL OF THE YEAR 



down on his tail in the edge of a pine-tree shadow. 

 " Odd indeed. Not a stump ; not a man, in spite of 

 appearances, for a man could never stand still so 

 long as that." 



The dogs were crashing through the underbrush 

 below, their fierce cries quivering through the very 

 trees about me. 



The fox got up, trotted back and forth in front 

 of me for the best possible view, muttering, " Too 

 bad ! Too bad ! What an infernal nuisance a pack 

 of poodles can make of themselves at times ! Here 

 is something new in the woods, and smells of the 

 hen-yard, as I live ! Those silly dogs ! " and trotting 

 back, down the path over which he had just come, 

 he ran directly toward the coming hounds, leaped 

 off into a pile of brush and stones, and vanished as 

 the hounds rushed up in a yelping, panting whirl 

 about me. 



Cool ? Indeed it was ! He probably did not stop, 

 as soon as he was out of sight, and make faces at 

 the whole pack. But that is because they have po- 

 liter ways in Foxland. 



It is no such walking-match as this every time. 

 It is nip and tuck, neck and neck, a dead heat 

 sometimes, when only his superior knowledge of the 

 ground saves the fox a whole skin. 



Perhaps there are peculiar conditions, at times, 

 that are harder for the fox than for the dogs, as 

 when the undergrowth is all adrip with rain or dew, 



