FOREST AND STREAM February, 1922 | 
MY FIRST FOX HUNTS 
“I’ve learned MY lesson— it’s 
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foot comfort.” 
There's a brisker swing at the day s 
end to the foot that’s clad in 
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KENWOOD MEN’S HALF HOSE 
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KENWOOD WOODSMEN’S 
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Also 
KENWOOD BOYS’ GOLF HOSE 
in Heathers and Greys, plain and 
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At your dealer’s or full par- 
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dealer will be sent on request, 
with catalogue of Sleeping 
Bags, Sitting-Out Bags, Kotor 
Robes, Blankets and other 
Kenwood Outdoor Comfort 
Products. 
HOW THE GENIUS OF FRED FIGGINS 
BROUGHT IT TO A SUCCESSFUL ENDING 
By F. E. BRIMMER 
HEN I first met Fred 
Figgins I could see 
right away that he 
had been a good deal 
out of doors. His 
face looked as if it 
had weathered a good 
many gales. He 
looked like a tough 
old elm tree that de- , 
fied the fiercest ele- 
ments. Fred was a 
fox fan. That ex- 
Kenwood Hose save someone hours of 
darning. 
plained it. He was lean and thin like 
his hound from hitting hills and ridges 
on high about every day in the week dur- 
ing the time of year when his farm work 
was standing still and red foxes were 
running about loose. He was one of 
those hunters who go to get game. Most 
men are satisfied if they get a good walk 
in the open and enjoy a little excitement. 
They will go ten times to get one pelt. 
But not Fred. When he went hunting he 
went to get his pelts. You know the 
strain ! It is all right for the man of 
leisure and plenty to saunter forth with 
gun and duds and dogs and cars, but 
that wasn’t like Fred. He didn t care 
abouthis fine appearance in hunting-togs. 
He didn’t care if his hound had worn out 
half his tail beating through the brush. 
But he did care about shooting foxes and 
hitting them hard and often. 
A sportsman was once out with Fred 
and a fox came right out in the road in 
front of them not more than fifteen feet 
away. He was too close to shoot, for it 
would spoil the pelt quite naturally for 
double B’s to tear through at that range, 
and Fred never used anything but those 
big double B’s. So he yelled to get him 
going. The fox was taken by a panic. 
No doubt a hound was behind. Up the 
road came a team. Down the road was 
a big noise. A noise never did any harm 
that you could notice. So reasoned the 
fox evidently. Hence, down the road he 
raced right between the legs of the vet- 
eran fox-hunter and, in spite of a hurried 
barrage that was laid down after the bat- 
tery had reversed its guns, this fox 
got away with his pelt. They say that 
this was the only fox that Fred Figgins 
ever missed. 
They called him “Fig” for short or else 
“Fox” and he never smiled. Such was 
the guide that it became my luck to fol- 
low after foxes and I am proud to say 
that under his generalship I shot one. 
KENWOOD MILLS 
Department F, Albany, N. Y. 
Kenwood Mills, Ltd. 
Amprior, Canada 
In Writing 
ring. It seemed to me that Fig was made 
on steel springs. He walked with a kind 
of a slide-with-each-step movement that 
got him over the ground easily while I 
ran to keep up. Honestly, I ran every 
time I could get out of sight. I was a 
mile behind him following his tracks in 
the snow and as soon as he disappeared 
I would run until I could see him. 
After a while I caught up with him. I 
noticed that every now and then he would 
stop to sniff the air. His hound ranged 
in big circles about him and seemed to 
be doing enough smelling for all of us. 
But there was Fig sniffing too ! “No fox 
here !” he announced curtly when I ar- 
rived where he had taken his last sniffing- 
stand, nose pointed to windward. Then 
I innocently asked how he knew that 
there was no fox in that clump of ever- 
greens, which I took to be a swamp, for 
I could see that neither he nor the dog- 
had entered. I shall always remember 
the look I got and the answer. “Can’t 
smell ’im.” That was all there was to it. 
If somebody had told me there was no 
elephant in the street and I had said that 
I wanted to know how anybody knew that 
and received the answer that he couldn’t 
be seen, I am sure it would never have 
been given with more contempt in tone 
and action. I was green on foxes. I had 
admitted that to start with to my com- 
panion but I wanted to be. initiated. So 
up went my nose and I began to sniff. 
There was nothing in the frosty, windy, 
winter ozone that I could detect as a 
smell at all. 
But there was no fox in the usual nest 
in that swamp. That was all there was 
to it. However, I sniffed just as if I 
wanted to make sure. What else could 
I do after I got that look and answer? 
I was learning the tricks of the trade. 
TT had been snowing and the winter 
I day was ideal. Would foxes run? It 
made no difference, so Fig said and I 
knew that he knew because I had heard 
about a hupdred stories about the knowl- 
edge of this wily fox-shooter. If they 
had not stirred, then we would route 
them out of their nests, since my com- 
panion knew all the ropes in the fox 
to Advertisers mention Forest and Stream. It will identify you. 
The reward 
