The fox had caught it with a side-swip- 
ing lunge of his head—the little animal 
had but six inches to go to a hole and 
long life. 
T HE woods were only a tongue of 
fenced growth laying against the 
slope, a spear-head stabbing the hill- 
side. In coming through the fence the 
fox secured another mouse to stay the 
pains of an empty stomach. As I 
stepped softly into the open pasture a 
flock of sparrows, juncos and snow- 
flakes burst like a flurry of wind-blown 
leaves out from the huckleberry bushes; 
they circled widely with much twitter- 
ing and when I had passed their feed- 
ing bush they returned to settle among 
the branches. At the foot of the slope 
laid the white levels of a field partly 
surrounded by second-growth white 
pine with clumps of white birch and 
isolating oaks towering in grim and 
gnarled majesty. With the field glasses 
I swept the area with a long survey and 
to my astonishment discovered another 
trail winding from the sombre pines on 
the far side of the field. 
This was good fortune, and I ex- 
pected to see something not out of the 
ordinary, but highly interesting. The 
trail I was following showed the fox 
had slowed to a walk in going down 
hill, stopping at intervals to sit on his 
haunches and probably breaking into 
barks of loneliness. The tracks of two 
snowshoe hares laid across his trail, but 
as track did not meet track in contact I 
know not if they were older than the 
fox trail. Low temperatures had stiff- 
ened the feathery snows. And so down 
to the middle of the field. I had a curi- 
ous feeling as I raised the glasses to 
look around. 
S OMETIME in the early hours of the 
night, two foxes sat facing each 
other a distance of fifty yards apart, a 
male and a female. Suddenly the male 
advanced slightly, only to set facing the 
strange fox again—he seemed strangely 
restless, unable to remain motionless 
for any length of time. The snow re- 
vealed three advances, the third being 
the longest of all, and this brought him 
close to the female who sat silent and 
motionless. The last move brought him 
within twenty-five feet, and there they 
eyed each other and whiffed the night 
winds. The male rose to his feet to 
stretch in dog-fashion, front paws and 
head low down, his haunches raised lu- 
dicrously with distended tail, then with 
a leap he circled completely the fair ad- 
mirer and suddenly trotted over to 
touch noses. Her tracks revealed no 
backing, no shyness, merely a rising to 
her four feet. They loped down to the 
end of the wild field, side by side, and 
raced back again until under the great 
boughs of a dying oak they gamboled 
in short circles and some rolling on 
their backs, and finally swung away up 
the levels as mates under the smile of a 
February moon. 
Elated, filled with the warming glow 
that I basked in the confidence of the 
gods, I know this was more than a mere 
find—it was biologic treasure. And so 
it was with a bit of excitement I 
cleaned the snow from the rackets and 
swished-swished along the two trails. 
The dog fox seemed a gay blade, full 
of life at fever heat or it might have 
been the magic of the ghostly moon. 
Time and time again he leaped play- 
fully towards her, but each movement 
sent her to a graceful bound out of his 
bold advances. Eventually his ardor 
cooled and he trotted meekly along be- 
side her a yard away. 
The trails swung in a sort of side- 
swing toward a snow-covered brook and 
thick growth. The brook was a wide 
stream with pools partly roofed with 
snow, and in stretches the black and 
white water of cataracts filled the 
woods with rolling and quite musical 
rhythm. Sunlight fil- 
tered into the _ ever- 
green tangle, and the 
snow was marked in 
strange designs of light 
and shadow. I heard 

crows in the distance, the scream of a 
blue jay closer, and in a tree along the 
trail came the soft, cheerful notes of 
chickadees busy at their hunting. A 
hare paid the penalty of not getting 
away fast enough, and both foxes wet 
their noses with the blood of the victim. 
We N the brook went the trails, ex- 
ploring every available location 
where life might hide. They snatched 
mouse after 
mouse, but these 
must have seemed 
a mockery to a 
hungry stomach. 
Mink trails 
were frequent, 
and the small- 
er tracks of 
the weasel ap- 



















er 
“... CAME CLOSE TO RUFFED GROUSE SLEEPING IN THEIR FORMS, SO CLOSE 
THAT ONE FOX HAD A MOUTHFUL OF FEATHERS IT MUST HAVE SPAT OUT IN 
DISGUST” 
Page 68 
