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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