SHARP EYES IS HURT
Sharp Eyes, the silver fox, could run very fast. So could Red Tail.
And they knew they must run fast to get away from the dogs of the
hunter. For when men go out to hunt wild animals or to trap them, dogs
generally go with the men, and though a man can not run as fast as a
fox or a deer, dogs can.
Red Tail told this to Sharp Eyes as they hurried along together. Behind
them could be heard the rumble and roar of the man’s gun, sounding like
thunder.
“Hurry, Sharp Eyes!” cried Red Tail. “Don’t let the hunter see you!”
“What will he do if he sees me?” asked the little fox boy.
“He’ll try to shoot you with his gun. That is, he will if he can not
catch you alive.”
“Why would he want to catch me alive?” asked Sharp Eyes, as he trotted
along beside the other fox. They slunk down between bushes, ran under
fallen trees, crawled beneath old logs, and even ran in brooks of
water.
“He’d like to catch you, instead of shooting you, because you are now a
small fox, and will be bigger some day,” answered Red Tail. “The bigger
you are the more fur you’ll have, and it is for your fine silver fur
that the hunter or trapper would like to get you.”
“Wouldn’t he like yours, too?” asked Sharp Eyes.
“Well, yes, I guess he’d take my fur, too, if he could get it,”
answered Red Tail. “But mine is not so nice as yours. Of course it
keeps me just as warm, and all that, but people who want fox furs seem
to like your silver color better, though why, I don’t know. You are a
rare fox, and more hunters or trappers will try to get you than would
try to get me. So be careful!”
“I will,” promised Sharp Eyes. Then he asked: “Don’t you think we can
stop running now and take a rest? I’m tired,” and indeed the little fox
boy was weary. His tongue was hanging out of his mouth and his legs
ached.
“No, we can’t stop yet,” said Red Tail. “We must run on a little more.
Then we can hide in the dark woods away from the hunter and his dogs
and take a long rest.”
So on the two foxes ran farther and farther until at last Red Tail, who
was older than Sharp Eyes, and who had been chased by dogs and hunters
before, and knew their ways, said it would be safe to rest. They lay
down on the leaves under a tree and stayed as quiet as mice. They
listened, but could not hear the barking of the dogs nor the bang of
the gun.
“I guess we got safely away,” said Red Tail, as he crept out a little
way and lapped up some water from a brook. Sharp Eyes did the same, for
they were both very thirsty from their run.
“Is it all right to go home now?” asked Sharp Eyes, when he had rested
till his tongue was no longer hot nor his legs tired.
“I’d better take a peep around and see,” answered his friend. “I know
more about hunters and dogs than you do.”
So Red Tail peeped out from behind some bushes, ready to skip back
again and hide in case he saw danger. But he saw none, and, after a
little while, he and Sharp Eyes went on to their homes, which were not
houses such as you live in, but a hole in a hollow log or a den under
the earth with some rough stones for a front door.
“Well! where have you been, Sharp Eyes?” asked his sister Winkle, as he
scrambled down inside the hollow log.
“Oh, I’ve been chased by a hunter and his dogs, and I heard his gun
fired,” answered the little fox boy.
“You did?” cried his mother, who was listening to what he said. “Oh,
Sharp Eyes, you must be careful!”
“I will. That’s what Red Tail told me.”
“And don’t go too much with that Red Tail boy, either,” said Mr. Fox.
“He is a daring sort of chap, and he might lead you into danger. Once
he went to a farmyard in broad daylight and took a chicken. He ought to
have waited until night. He is very daring.”
“Well, he was good to me,” said Sharp Eyes. “He showed me how to run
away from the hunter.”
“You must have had a terrible time,” said little Winkle.
“Oh, it was a sort of adventure,” answered Sharp Eyes.
“What’s adventure?” Twinkle, his brother, asked.
“It’s things that happen to you,” answered Sharp Eyes. “And then they
are put into a book. That’s what happened to Slicko.”
“Who’s Slicko?” asked Winkle.
“A jumping squirrel,” replied Sharp Eyes, and he told of the talk the
two had had together.
For some days after this nothing much happened to Sharp Eyes. He stayed
with his father and mother and brother and sister in their hollow log
house, going out now and then to get something to eat, or to drink
water at the brook.
“That boy of ours is going to be very smart,” said Mr. Fox to his wife
one day.
“What makes you think so?” she asked.
“Why, when we were out hunting in the woods to-day he saw a big muskrat
that I couldn’t see, and he caught it.”
“Yes, I think he has the best eyes, for seeing things to eat, of
any foxes in this wood,” said Mrs. Fox. “I only wish his fur was a
different color.”
“Why?”
“Because it is too beautiful. If it was red or brown, like yours and
mine, the hunters and trappers would not be after him so much. But he
is a silver fox, and you know how such skins are prized. There is a big
reward for a silver fox skin, Red Tail’s mother told me.”
“Yes, I suppose there is,” said Mr. Fox. “I remember hearing, when I
was a boy, that a silver skin was much sought after by hunters. I never
was colored that way myself, but I knew a fox who was a boy when I was.
He had silver fur, and one day he did not come to play with us. We
asked where he was, and his father said a hunter had shot him to get
his silver fur.”
“It’s too bad,” said Mrs. Fox. “I wish the hunters would leave us
alone. I must tell Sharp Eyes to be careful.”
Each night, now that he was big enough, Sharp Eyes went out with his
father or mother, Twinkle or Winkle sometimes going with them, to hunt
for things to eat. When they dared they went to a farm which was not
far from the North Woods where they lived.
“It is easier to get a chicken or a duck than to hunt for a wild turkey
or the wood mice,” said Mr. Fox. “We’ll eat at the farmyard if we can.”
And often they did, though sometimes the dogs barked when the foxes
came near, or the farmer and his men would come out with guns, and
the foxes would have to run away. At such times they had to hunt for
something to eat in the woods. And, if they did not find it, they would
go hungry. That was no fun.
One night, when the whole fox family had been out hunting and had been
frightened away from the farm by barking dogs, they were all very
hungry.
“I wish I had something to eat,” sighed Winkle.
“Well, we can’t have anything, so we’ll just have to wait,” said her
mother.
“Where’s Sharp Eyes?” asked Mr. Fox. “Didn’t he come back with us?”
“He said he was going back to the farm, and try to get a chicken or a
duck,” returned Twinkle. “He said he was terribly hungry. And so am I.”
“Sharp Eyes may be caught,” said Mrs. Fox. “You had better go back and
make him come with you,” she went on to Mr. Fox.
“I will,” said he, but just as he started out on the woodland path,
Sharp Eyes came running along, with a big chicken slung over his back.
“Look what I got!” he barked, as he laid it in front of his mother.
“Where did you get it?” asked Winkle.
“At that farmyard. I waited until the wind was blowing the other way,
so the dogs could not smell me coming, and then I crawled in and got
this bird.”
“It’s a wonder you weren’t caught yourself,” said his father. “You are
getting as reckless as Red Tail. You must look out for danger.”
“I did,” answered Sharp Eyes. Then they all ate the chicken he had
brought, and his mother said he was very clever.
“But you’ll not always be as lucky as that,” said Red Tail to Sharp
Eyes the next day, when the fox boy told what he had done. “Some day
you may be caught in a trap.”
“What’s a trap?” asked Sharp Eyes. “Is it like a book that Slicko the
squirrel had adventures in?”
[Illustration: “‘Look what I got!’ he barked.”]
“No, a trap is something that hurts you,” said Red Tail.
A few days after that the silver fox had a chance to see for himself,
and feel for himself, what a trap was like.
Sharp Eyes was trotting along through the woods, not far from the
farmer’s yard; and as he was looking toward it hoping he might catch a
stray duck or a rooster, all of a sudden he saw a chicken lying to one
side of the path.
“Oh, ho!” said Sharp Eyes to himself. “I’ll just get that and take it
home for lunch.”
So he crept softly up on the chicken, which did not seem to know a fox
was so near. When he was close enough, Sharp Eyes gave a jump and came
straight down on top of the fowl, making a grab for it with his teeth.
At the same time there was a sharp click, and Sharp Eyes felt a sudden
pain in one paw. It stung and ached.
“Oh!” cried the fox boy. “I’m hurt! Something has me fast by the foot!
Oh, what can it be? Did the chicken bite me?”
He tried to pull his paw loose, but could not. He was caught, and was
held fast.