


v 
peared now 
and then. Un- 
der a mighty hem- 
lock they stopped 
abruptly,each 
holding up a front 
paw. One of the foxes moved stealth- 
ily forward and jumped a muskrat at 
the icy edge of a deep pool. Blood and 
fur messed the snow in a wide area, 
then the other fox approached and the 
plucky animal gave up the ghost to 
weight and numbers. A small fragment 
of fox skin with hair attached was good 
evidence the muskrat secured a bite 
that must have brought a yelp of pain 
from one of the foxes. A little ways 
along the remains of two white suckers 
laid in the snow—some mink had taken 
two bites of solid meat just back of the 
heads and left them. The prints of fox 
teeth were in the frozen fish. 
F OR some distance the trails began to 
be uneventful, barren of any evi- 
dence of a kill. The snow was thick 
with hare tracks, the broad pads of the 
snowshoe, but the big hares seemed to 
be too speedy on a get-away. A few 
animals had close calls, but the foxes 
did not enter in pursuit, and only en- 
deavored to get them unawares. They 
came close to ruffed grouse sleeping in 
their forms under bushes, so close one 
fox had a mouthful of feathers it must 
have spat out in disgust. Again one 
fox leaped aside to inspect the fresh 
workings of a porcupine upon a slender 
hemlock and then turned to the trail. 
It was a long mile down the brook, 
and on account of brush and down-tim- 
ber the going was hard shoeing. I was 
Page 69 



glad when the two trails 
turned suddenly into a corn 
field with a few scattering 
shocks standing like grim 
sentinels. The dog fox be- 
gan to feel frisky again, yet each 
advance was repulsed by his mate 
and I wondered her coldness. Among 
the shocks they routed a number of 
cottontail rabbits and without much 
apparent effort they secured one 
apiece which they ate at once. A 
black object drew instant attention—a 
crow with wide-flung wings stretched 
out, dead. One of the foxes came close, 
then wheeled and backed within two 
feet to shower it with a covering of 
snow. I thrust a corn stalk into the 
snow just in front of the bird and 
sprung a steel trap. Wily animal, that 
fox! 
Just before leaving the field they dug 
into one of the shocks. They must have 
had an exciting few minutes with 
frightened field mice. The snow was 
tracked and kicked completely into con- 
fusion as the foxes routed and caught 
the escaping mice. Then the trails 
wound in a small 
half-circle out of 
the field to a 
fenced pasture 
and ft ainea tl )'-y. 
brought up to an 
outlying hen- 
house. One fox 
sat down while 
the other made a 
wide detour until 
it drew closer to 
the henhouse. 
Suddenly it raced 
toward the build- 
ing and the trail 
revealed a deter- 
mined effort to 
find an opening, 
and finding none 
they trotted back 
to the corn field to wend a leisurely 
way toward a grove of dark spruce. 
I tramped two miles through woods, 
swamps, old pastures, and visited an- 
other henhouse where they were routed 
by the farm dog. He came bounding 
from the darkness of the barn with 
great leaps, while they sat looking at 
him until he came close; then they 
wheeled and trotted a short distance 
MUUIUIURUDUOUUUCUUTUOOUCEUTTUUTTTUVUGUSTUEUU UU EU 
There is a joy associated with a 
long tramp thru snow-clad hills 
that is a thing apart from the 
charms of spring, summer and 
autumn. Go into the open coun- 
try this winter and read the story 
left in the snow by the foot prints 
of furred and feathered crea- 
tures. You’re sure to add several 
chapters of knowledge to your 
book of outdoor 
IVNVUTUIOLUOUTLUTOOUTUUTLUEEOUSUTA TT 
only to set down again. And of course 
the foolish dog came leaping again 
when they went through the same stunt 
of baiting and tantalizing the dog to 
fresh fury. Finally the deep snow 
proved too much for the great weight 
of the dog, and he returned to the shel- 
ter of the farm. 
ANOTHER mile proved to be a re- 
peat of other miles. They uncov- 
ered a farmer’s traps near a frozen 
spring. To add insult to injury to the 
trapper’s endeavor, they defiled the 
snow about the traps. A hare, a rab- 
bit, a ruffed grouse fell as toll to the 
prowling of a patch of woods bordering 
a little bog-pond dotted with two or 
three muskrat houses. They inspected 
the houses, dug into the tops of two of 
them, but gave up the attempt when 
they found the house frozen too hard 
for digging. They ate the rabbit, and 
swung to their back trail carrying the 
grouse and hare. It looked like they 
had reached a fill for a couple of hours. 
Looking through the bare trees I 
felt it was worth volumes written on 
fox traits. It was a record I read, a 
history written by the foxes themselves 
—it was life in the primitive. 
HE fox is one of the few forms of 
wild life which man has not suc- 
ceeded in driving away from his es- 
tablishment, both rural and urban. 
‘On the contrary, foxes, both gray and 
red are increasing yearly. They pre- 
fer the open country, living in inac- 
cessible rocky re- 
gions and _ ven- 
turing abroad to 
pay noctural vis- 
its to hen roosts, 
not only in the 
immediate vicin- 
ity of their dwell- 
ing place, but 
perhaps miles 
away. 
The red fox has 
no terror for the 
plain city dog. If 
you live near the 
outskirts of town, 
even though that 
town be within a 
score of miles of 
the metropolis, 
Reynard would 
not hesitate to attack your hens. For 
the bull terrier, the collie, the mongrel, 
he displays a fine contempt, for he 
seems to know that only the trailing 
dog—the long-eared hound—is his 
match. 
While there are many tales of barn- 
yard depredations, it seems that Rey- 
nard’s activities in this direction are the 
result of a desire for adventure. 
experiences. 
