& 
4 > 
M Squeaking" 
a Fox at 
t Rock 
once or twice he drew back and,stalking a half circle around me, 
got my wind, when he at once started off at a great pace, 
taking long, light bounds and quickly disappearing among 
some dense young pines. As he came down the Run before I 
attracted his attention he trotted, as I have already said; 
not as a dog trots but much more lightly yet in a tired, list¬ 
less-seeming way more nearly like that of a Coyote. While 
approaching me after I had begun squeaking, his gait was a 
quick, nervous, yet singularly stealthy and noiseless walk, 
the head and tail carried low and in line with the body, the 
steps carefully regulated to avoid dry twigs or clusters of 
dead leaves. When he made the final halt and I gave my last 
squeak, his eyes roved excitedly from side to side, looking 
eagerly for some movement on the part of the supposed mouse 
and I could see the muscles swell in his lean fore-arms 
as he prepared to spring. 
I could not help feeling a bit nervous at this 
moment, for he was a big fellow and as gaunt and grim-looking 
as a starved ’Wolf. His color was faded and yellowish while 
his hair had fallen or worn off in places, giving his coat 
a ragged, nangy appearance. But his worst feature was his 
close-set, deeply-sunken, shifty eyes which seemed to 
express a mixture of hard shrewdness, remorseless cruelty 
and deep blood-guiltiness. They fairly made me shudder 
as they peered intently at me from so short a distance yet, 
strange to say, they did not once seem to meet mine. 
2 
