IN THE CATSKILLS 



the speed. But when they mount the hill, or enter 

 the woods, the superior nimbleness and agility of the 

 fox tell at once, and he easily leaves the dog far in 

 his rear. For a cur less than his own size he mani- 

 fests little fear, especially if the two meet alone, 

 remote from the house. In such cases, I have seen 

 first one turn tail, then the other. 



A novel spectacle often occurs in summer, when 

 the female has young. You are rambling on the 

 mountain, accompanied by your dog, when you are 

 startled by that wild, half-threatening squall, and 

 in a moment perceive your dog, with inverted tail, 

 and shame and confusion in his looks, sneaking 

 toward you, the old fox but a few rods in his rear. 

 You speak to him sharply, when he bristles up, 

 turns about, and, barking, starts off vigorously, as 

 if to wipe out the dishonor; but in a moment comes 

 sneaking back more abashed than ever, and owns 

 himself unworthy to be called a dog. The fox fairly 

 shames him out of the woods. The secret of the 

 matter is her sex, though her conduct, for the honor 

 of the fox be it said, seems to be prompted only by 

 solicitude for the safety of her young. 



One of the most notable features of the fox is his 

 large and massive tail. Seen running on the snow 

 at a distance, his tail is quite as conspicuous as his 

 body; and, so far from appearing a burden, seems 

 to contribute to his lightness and buoyancy. It 

 softens the outline of his movements, and repeats or 

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