FOXES AND OTHER NEIGHBORS 241 



years now a fox has burrowed on a certain steep and 

 rocky hillside near our village, always close to the 

 top, and as soon as the deep snow comes he estab- 

 lishes a regular trail up to his dwelling. Out in the 

 fields below the hillside forest his tracks may be 

 seen coming from all directions, but once in the 

 woods they speedily converge into a path about 

 eight inches wide, trodden down six or seven inches 

 into the snow, like a tiny snow ditch. This path 

 leads up the rough slope in a winding direction, 

 taking frequent cover under the tangle of laurel- 

 bushes and passing under the south side of almost 

 every overhanging boulder. Apparently this is be- 

 cause the snow often melts down to bare ground 

 under such sheltering rocks, and the partridges and 

 pheasants huddle there for food or shelter. No 

 doubt the fox comes sneaking down his path, which 

 invariably is concealed from the lower side of the 

 rock till it suddenly swings in under, and pounces 

 hopefully for game when his nose or ear gives him 

 warning. Near the top of the hill the path dis- 

 appears into a round hole in the snow, dirtied with 

 soil from the animal's belly, and ten feet up is an- 

 other hole, apparently little used, which may or 

 may not go into the earth or be merely the end of a 

 snow tunnel to facilitate escape. I have never had 

 the heart to disturb it, for this fox is an old settler, 

 and the winter woods would not seem right without 

 his tracks. At night I have heard him barking, a 

 thin, querulous, husky bark, but never emitting the 

 somewhat panther-like scream that foxes do at times 

 give vent to — it is said most frequently in spring. 

 This scream, heard near a lonely dwelling in the 



