Sharp Eyes, the Silver Fox

CHAPTER II SHARP EYES CATCHES SOMETHING

Slowly and carefully, making not the least sound, Mr. Fox began to creep through the woods toward the wild turkey. The big bird was eating some forest berries, and had his back toward the fox.

“Let me catch him!” whispered Sharp Eyes. “I saw him first, let me creep up and jump on him!”

“No,” whispered his mother. “It is true you had very keen sight to see the turkey, Sharp Eyes, and when you grow up you will be a smart fox. But just now, when we are all so hungry, it would not do to let that turkey get away from us. They can fly faster than you can run or jump. Even your father will have hard work getting it. But he can do it better than you.

“You saw the big bird first, Sharp Eyes. Now let your father get it for us. Then we shall all have something to eat. The next wild turkey you see you may catch for yourself.”

“All right,” said Sharp Eyes. So he carefully watched his father to see how the old fox would go about it to catch the wild turkey.

Nearer and nearer crept Mr. Fox to the big bird, which was still eating away, not hearing or seeing the danger that was so close to him. Mrs. Fox and the three little foxes waited very anxiously indeed, for they were very hungry.

“Oh, I hope he gets it!” whispered Twinkle.

“So do I,” said Sharp Eyes.

“It was awfully smart of you to see it,” murmured Winkle.

“Hush, children!” softly called Mrs. Fox. “Watch your father!”

Just then Mr. Fox made a jump for the turkey. Up in the air went Sharp Eyes’ father, and down he came, right on the back of the big, wild bird.

“Gobble-obble-obble!” cried the turkey, and that was all he said. A little later the fox family had a fine dinner, and they didn’t have to wait for the turkey to be roasted, either. They ate it raw.

Of course it was too bad for the turkey, but animals must live, and if one lives on the other that is the law of the woods. There is no need of feeling sorry. The foxes had to eat the turkey, just as the turkey had to eat grasshoppers.

“Oh, that was a fine meal!” cried Twinkle, when the turkey was all gone, and nothing but the bones was left.

“Yes, and if it hadn’t been for Sharp Eyes we might not have had it,” said Mrs. Fox.

“That’s right,” said Mr. Fox. “I looked and looked under the trees and through the bushes, but I never saw that turkey. It took Sharp Eyes to see it for us. His name is the right one if ever a name was.”

Of course Sharp Eyes felt very proud and happy on hearing this, just as you children feel when you do anything that pleases your father and mother.

“But I wish I could catch something myself,” said the little fox boy.

“Oh, you will, some day,” his mother answered. “You are young yet—you have plenty of time to learn.”

After their turkey dinner the fox family went back to their home in the hollow log and had a long sleep. And they did not need to hunt anything more until the next day, for the turkey was a large one. Foxes or other wild animals, hardly ever save anything over from one meal to the next. They have no ice boxes or pantries. When they are hungry they go out and get what they can to eat, and they don’t hunt for anything more until they are hungry again.

Of course, by the next day, Sharp Eyes, his brother and sister, as well as his father and mother, were hungry once more.

“I will go out and see what I can find,” said Mr. Fox. “The rest of you stay here.”

“Can’t I come with you?” asked Sharp Eyes.

Mr. Fox seemed to think for a minute.

“Yes,” he answered, “I guess it will be a good thing for you to come along. My eyes are getting old, and are not as good as they once were. Yours are young and bright. You may see something I can’t. Come with me, Sharp Eyes.”

“And us?”

“Well— Well, no, Twinkle and Winkle. This isn’t a lesson in hunting. I think, if I take only Sharp Eyes along, we’ll be able to get something to eat sooner.”

So Sharp Eyes went hunting with his father, while Mrs. Fox remained at home in the hollow log with Twinkle and Winkle.

“I hope we’ll see another wild turkey,” said Sharp Eyes, as he trotted along beside his father across the meadow.

“Don’t expect such good luck,” answered the older fox. “If we get a couple of wood mice, or perhaps a little duck that has paddled off down stream away from the others, I shall be glad.”

So to the woods they went, looking for mice which live in hollow stumps or in the ground under the roots of trees. But all the mice seemed to be away that day. Not one could Sharp Eyes or his father see.

“Now we’ll go to the brook,” said the old fox. “Sometimes there are little ducks there, who know no better than to swim too far from the big ones, that, if I jump in among them, can make a loud quacking noise and bring the farmer with his gun. Maybe we can steal up on a little duck.”

So down to the brook went Sharp Eyes and his father. But though there were ducks and geese in the water (for the brook was near a farm) not one of the fowls was off by itself. They all kept together and not far from them was a farmer plowing in a field.

“He may have a gun near him, or a club,” said Mr. Fox, “and with either of those he could hurt us very much. We’ll not try to get a duck now. We’ll have to go somewhere else for our dinner.”

“But where?” asked Sharp Eyes. “I am hungry, and I know my mother is, and so are the others.”

“I know,” answered his father. “I am also hungry. We’ll go to the woods once more. Maybe there’ll be some mice now.”

So back to the woods they went.

On all sides, among the trees and through the bushes, looked Mr. Fox and Sharp Eyes. But no mice could they see. Nor did there seem to be any partridges, quail or other wild birds. As for wild turkeys, not even the gobble-obble of one could be heard.

“What shall we do?” asked Sharp Eyes.

“I’ll tell you,” his father answered. “There are two of us. If we keep together we can be in only one place in the woods, but if you go one way and I the other we can be in two places, and we’ll have a much better chance to find something.”

“All right,” said Sharp Eyes. “I’ll go this way,” and with his paw he sort of pointed down among some trees where the shadows were deep and dark.

“It looks as though you could catch something there,” observed Mr. Fox. “I’ll go the other way, and whichever of us first catches anything must bark and howl. Then the other will know.”

“I’ll do it,” said Sharp Eyes.

So off he trotted by himself. It was the first time he had hunted alone, and he felt a bit queer about it. Still he was a sly, cunning chap, as are all fox creatures, and he wanted to show what he could do.

“I’ll get another turkey,” said Sharp Eyes to himself.

Through the woods he went, very softly and quietly, looking on all sides, and sniffing the air to get a smell of something he might catch as a dinner for himself and the rest of the fox family.

All at once Sharp Eyes saw something moving behind a bush. It made a rustling sound.

“I wonder what that is,” thought the fox boy.

Once more he sniffed the air. The wind was blowing toward him from whatever was in the bush, and the wind brought to the nose of the fox boy a wonderful perfume.

“It smells like something good to eat!” thought Sharp Eyes.

There was another rustling in the bushes.

Then the fox boy saw some feathers shining in the sun.

“It must be another wild turkey,” said Sharp Eyes to himself. “Oh, I wonder if I can jump on it as my father did! I’m going to try!”

As softly as he could, the fox boy crept up behind the bush. He heard a scratching sound among the dried leaves. He saw more feathers, and something red.

“That’s the funny red thing that hangs down under a turkey’s chin,” said the fox boy to himself. “I am having good luck! Oh, if I can only jump on that bird before he hears or sees me and flies away!”

Nearer and nearer he crept. He could see the big bird now. It did not look exactly like the wild turkey.

“Maybe it’s a new and better kind,” thought Sharp Eyes. “If I get it I’ll bark for my father to come and see what good hunting I can do!”

Nearer and nearer he crept. The big bird which was picking up something from the ground under the bush, and scratching in the leaves, did not seem to hear.

“Ah ha!” whispered Sharp Eyes to himself. “Now for a good dinner for all of us!”

Through the air he jumped, and he landed with his front feet right on the big bird’s back.

“Burr-r-r-r-r!” barked Sharp Eyes, almost like a dog.

“Cock-a-doodle-do!” crowed the big bird, and then it was very still.

CHAPTER III SHARP EYES HEARS SOMETHING

“Ah ha!” cried Sharp Eyes in fox talk, “I have caught you, my fine wild turkey!”

Then, with the big bird held tightly under his paws, the fox boy lifted his nose high in the air and howled and barked. That was his way of saying:

“Come and see what I have, Father! I’ve caught a fine wild turkey!”

Away off in the woods, where he was looking for something to eat, Mr. Fox heard the call of Sharp Eyes.

“Ah, I wonder if he is hurt, in danger, or if he has something for dinner,” said Mr. Fox to himself.

Mr. Fox listened carefully, and then by the difference in the howl and bark, he could tell what Sharp Eyes was saying. It was this:

“I have caught something! I have caught something!”

“Ah, my little fox boy has had good luck,” said Mr. Fox. “Better luck than I have had. I must go and see what he has caught!”

Not having found anything that he could take home for his family’s dinner, Mr. Fox turned and ran quickly through the woods toward Sharp Eyes. He could tell where his little fox son was by noticing the direction from which his howls and barks came.

“What is it?” asked Mr. Fox as he came near.

“I have caught a big wild turkey,” answered Sharp Eyes, still keeping the large bird between his paws.

“Ha! that is not a turkey,” said Mr. Fox, as he came near and saw what Sharp Eyes had.

“No?” asked the little fox in surprise. “What is it then?”

“It’s a rooster,” said his father. “A great, big rooster that lives down on the farm where the ducks are,” for there were farms near the North Woods, though there were no cities. “Well do I know that rooster,” went on Mr. Fox. “Many a time, when I have been creeping up to get a chicken, he has seen me and crowed so loudly that the farmer came out with a gun to drive me away. And so you have caught him, Sharp Eyes!”

“Yes, but I thought he was a wild turkey like the one I saw before. I never have seen a rooster.”

“He is as good as a wild turkey to eat,” went on Mr. Fox. “You have had good luck. You have quick legs as well as sharp eyes. Now we shall not be hungry.”

So Mr. Fox carried the big rooster home to the other foxes in the hollow log. The bird would have been too heavy for Sharp Eyes, who was not yet full grown.

“Oh, what a fine dinner!” said Mrs. Fox, when she saw the rooster. “Who caught it?”

“Sharp Eyes did,” answered his father. “We ought to be quite proud of him!”

“I am,” said the little fox boy’s mother.

Then they had a rooster dinner, and Twinkle and Winkle listened as Sharp Eyes told how he had caught the fowl, thinking it was a wild turkey.

“Though when it said ‘Cock-a-doodle-do!’ instead of ‘Gobble-obble-obble,’ I thought it was funny,” said the little fox boy.

“You are a real fox now—you can go out and catch things for yourself,” said his father. “Now, Twinkle and Winkle, it is time you started in. To-morrow let us see what you can do.”

So the next day the three little foxes started off together on a hunting trip. At first they saw nothing, but, after a bit, they spied some wood mice and each caught one.

“They are not as big as a rooster or a wild turkey,” said Sharp Eyes, “but they will do for a start. We can’t catch big things every day.”

Twinkle and Winkle were quite delighted with the mice. They were the first things they had caught, except some grasshoppers, and they felt a little bit proud of themselves.

From then on the little foxes hunted every day. Twinkle and Winkle soon learned to do nearly as well as Sharp Eyes, but their brother could always see things in the woods before they could.

His eyes seemed to grow sharper and brighter each day, and he could tell a turkey, a partridge or other wild bird a long way off, so that even his father used to say:

“Sharp Eyes is the best hunter of us all. He is a fine fox!”

Not far from where these foxes lived was another family, not quite the same kind, though. One of these foxes, named Red Tail, as he heard Sharp Eyes tell of having caught the rooster, said one day:

“You had better look out for yourself, Sharp Eyes.”

“Why had I, Red Tail?”

“Oh, because,” was the answer, and that was all Red Tail would say just then.

“Pooh! I s’pose he means a hunter might shoot me,” said Sharp Eyes. “But I’m not afraid. I’m going off in the woods now and see what I can find for dinner.”

Off went the little fox boy on another hunt. He looked all around, and listened and smelled, and at last he saw something moving along the ground.

“Ha! Maybe that is another rooster or a turkey,” thought Sharp Eyes. “I’ll get that for dinner.”

Softly, softly he crept up toward the animal on the ground. Sharp Eyes could now see it was an animal, and not a bird, and at first he thought it was an extra large wood mouse. For the animal was of the same color, a light gray. But when Sharp Eyes saw the big, curving bushy tail of the creature he said:

“Ha! I know him. It is a gray squirrel! Well, they are as good as a rooster or a wild turkey, though not as large. I’ll get him!”

Sharp Eyes crept toward the gray squirrel, but, just as the fox was going to jump on it, something happened.

With a chatter of his teeth and a frisk of his tail the squirrel sprang up into a tree, and from there, safely out of reach, sitting on a limb, with his tail curled up along his back the squirrel looked at Sharp Eyes.

“Ha! You thought you’d get me! didn’t you?” chattered the squirrel.

“Oh, I don’t know. I’m not so very hungry,” drawled Sharp Eyes, pretending he hadn’t been fooled when the squirrel jumped away.

“Oh, yes you did! You tried to get me, but I was too quick for you—I got away!” laughed and chattered the squirrel. “What’s your name, little fox boy?”

“Sharp Eyes. What’s yours?”

“Oh, I am called Slicko, the jumping squirrel, and it’s because I can jump so well that I got away from you,” answered the little gray animal. “Haven’t you heard about me?”

“Heard about you?” asked Sharp Eyes. “What do you mean? I hear you talking now, and I heard you scrabbling around in the leaves.”

“No, I mean, didn’t you hear about my having adventures, and being put in a book?” asked Slicko.

“No,” answered Sharp Eyes, looking hungrily up at the squirrel, “I didn’t.”

“Well, I am in a book,” went on Slicko, “and it tells how I was caught by some boys, and put in a cage. But I got away and came back to the woods I love so well. But if you haven’t read the book about me, I don’t s’pose you know Blackie, the lost cat, nor Don, the runaway dog.”

“No,” said Sharp Eyes, “I don’t know either of them. I don’t like dogs.”

“Oh, but you’d like Don,” said Slicko. “He’s the nicest dog that ever was! He’s in a book, too.”

“I don’t know anything about books,” said Sharp Eyes. “All I know about is being hungry—that’s why I tried to catch you.”

“I’m glad you didn’t,” chattered Slicko.

“So am I,” said the fox. “I guess I can easily catch a turkey or a mouse or a rooster. I’ve caught roosters before. But now I wouldn’t like to catch you as I like to hear you talk, though I don’t know anything about books.”

“Neither do I,” said Slicko. “All I know is I’m in one. And there’s a book about Tum Tum, the jolly elephant. I don’t s’pose you know him, either, do you?”

“Is an elephant like a wild turkey?” asked Sharp Eyes.

“I should say not!” laughed Slicko. “An elephant looks as if he had two tails, but one is his trunk. Tum Tum was a jolly chap. He was in the same circus with Mappo, the merry monkey. But excuse me, I have to go now. I’ll see you some other time.”

“I wish you would,” said the fox boy. “I’ll promise not to catch you. I like to hear you talk. Tell me some more about your elephant and monkey friends.”

“I will,” promised Slicko, “and about the book I’m in, too. I had a lot of adventures. Maybe you’ll have some, too, and have them put in a book.”

“Oh, no! That will never happen to me!” said Sharp Eyes.

But you see how little he knew about it, for here he is in a book, and I have a lot of adventures to tell you about him.

So Slicko, the jumping squirrel, scrambled off among the trees, and the little fox boy went to look for something to eat.

Sharp Eyes presently caught a fat duck that had swum too far down the brook, away from the farm, and, slinging her across his back, off to the hollow log he trotted.

And later that day, when Sharp Eyes was telling his friend, Red Tail, about catching the duck, Sharp Eyes said:

“I think I am getting to be a pretty good hunter, don’t you?”

“Yes, you are,” said Red Tail. “But you had better look out.”

“You said that the other day,” went on Sharp Eyes. “What do you mean? Do you mean I’d better look out for Slicko, the squirrel?”

“Oh, no,” answered Red Tail. “But did you ever stop to think that your coat of fur is different from those that most of us wear?”

“Why, no, I never took much notice,” said Sharp Eyes, as he looked at himself as well as he could. “What’s the matter with my fur?”

“Nothing, except that it is very beautiful,” said Red Tail. “Now you are going to hear something that may scare you. Though you may not know it, you are a silver fox.”

“What’s that?” asked Sharp Eyes.

“It means your fur is the color of silver,” went on Red Tail. “That color is very scarce, and hunters like to get a silver fox more than any other. That means they’ll hunt you out, and try to catch you rather than any of us, for our fur is common. But yours is silver shade, and can be sold for a lot of money. So you want to look out.”

“Look out for what?” asked Sharp Eyes.

“For hunters,” answered Red Tail. “I’ll tell you how I happen to know. Last year, when I was a tiny little fox, I was caught in a trap. A man who was a trapper of wild animals up in these North Woods caught me. He took me home to his cabin, and there I saw the skins of many foxes hung up to dry.

“There were many like mine, but only one or two of a silver color. As I was so small, the trapper kept me to tame me, and I stayed in his cabin a long time. There I learned to know a little of the talk that men hunters and trappers speak.

“Other hunters and trappers used to come to the cabin to buy furs, and they paid more for that of a silver fox than for any other. That is how I know your silver coat would bring a lot of money if a hunter or a trapper caught you. So you want to be careful when you go out in the woods.”

“Thank you, I will,” promised Sharp Eyes. “I’ll be careful. Thank you for telling me, Red Tail.”

The two foxes talked in animal talk a little longer, and Sharp Eyes was just going back to his hollow log when, all of a sudden, a loud clap, like thunder, sounded in the woods.

“What’s that?” cried Sharp Eyes. “Is it going to rain?”

“No! That was the sound of a gun!” cried Red Tail. “That was a hunter’s gun! We had better hide, Sharp Eyes! The hunters, even now, may be after your silver fur!”

And away ran Red Tail and Sharp Eyes.

CHAPTER IV 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?”

“‘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.

CHAPTER V SHARP EYES MEETS DON

After the first pain felt on being caught, and when he found he could not pull his paw loose, Sharp Eyes lay quietly on the ground, partly covering up the chicken. He did not howl, which was his way of crying when he was hurt, though he wanted to do so very much. But foxes and other wild animals do not make much noise in the woods, for they like to keep quiet so no larger animals, or hunter-men with their dogs, may know where to find them.

“Something terrible has happened to me,” thought Sharp Eyes, as once more he tried to pull loose his paw. But he could not, and each time he pulled the pain was worse.

“If I make too much noise,” thought Sharp Eyes, “Bruin, the bear, may hear me and come to bite me. Or the hunters may come with their dogs, and I could not get away.”

There were bears in the North Woods where Sharp Eyes lived, and hunters and dogs often came to the forest.

“And, now that I am caught fast, I can’t get away if they should come up close to me,” thought the little fox boy. “I must keep quiet and not make too much noise, though I would like to call and ask my father or mother to come to help me.”

Sharp Eyes whined a little from the pain, and then he tried to be brave and not mind it.

“I wonder what it is that has caught me,” said the little fox boy to himself. “And why didn’t the chicken flutter and try to get away when I jumped on her? That was very funny!”

He soon saw the reason the chicken did not move. It was dead, and Sharp Eyes knew he had not killed it.

“She must have been dead when I jumped on her,” said the little fox boy. “And now to see what has caught me.”

He could move about a little, and, pawing with one of his feet that was not caught, Sharp Eyes brushed the chicken to one side. Then he saw that his left forefoot was caught between two jaws of iron.

“Oh, I’m in a trap!” exclaimed Sharp Eyes. “I never saw a trap before, but this is just what my father said they were like. He told me to keep out of them, but I didn’t see this one. The chicken was in the way, or I might have noticed the trap. Oh dear! I wonder if I will ever get loose!”

Sharp Eyes pulled some more, but the pain in his foot soon made him stop.

“If you had only been alive you could have told me about the trap, and then I wouldn’t have been caught in it,” said Sharp Eyes, speaking to the dead chicken, as though it were alive.

If he had only known, the chicken was put there near the trap, partly covering it, on purpose. It was bait for the trap, just as mousetraps are baited with cheese. And the trap was set in the woods by a hunter who hoped to catch a fox or some other wild animal in it.

The chicken had been killed and put near the trap, for the hunter knew wild animals like such things to eat. And the hunter knew that if a fox came along, the first thing it would do would be to jump for the chicken, thinking it was alive.

Underneath the outspread wings of the chicken was the open trap, and as soon as Sharp Eyes’ paw touched the spring, snap! shut went the jaws of the trap, catching him fast there. It was the jaws of the trap pressing on Sharp Eyes’ paw that hurt him.

“Oh, if I could only get away!” said the little fox boy to himself. “If I can only get away I’ll never jump at a chicken again, without looking first to make sure there’s no trap!”

But it was too late to think of that now. Sharp Eyes was caught, and every time he pulled his leg it hurt him so that he soon stopped.

“Red Tail was right,” he whispered to himself. “He said something would happen to me some day, and it has. Oh dear!”

Sharp Eyes kept quiet as long as he could, and then his paw pained him so that he had to cry out. But he cried very softly. Then he called for his father and mother, using fox language, of course.

But they did not answer him, for they were far away.

“Twinkle! Winkle! Can’t you come and help me out of the trap?” barked the little fox boy, held fast, all alone in the woods, near the dead chicken.

But neither Twinkle nor Winkle answered. They, too, were far away. They were off hunting with their father and mother, and though they wondered where Sharp Eyes was, they thought he was safe.

“Sharp Eyes can take care of himself,” said his mother.

“But I hope the hunters or trappers don’t get him and take his lovely, silver fur,” said Winkle. If they could only have known what had happened to poor Sharp Eyes they would surely have gone to help him, wouldn’t they?

“But I must get away,” thought Sharp Eyes. “If I stay in this trap much longer the hunter will come and get me. Or his dogs will come and bite me! Oh, I must get loose!”

So he pulled and tugged away to get out of the trap, but his foot hurt him more and more and he had to stop.

Sharp Eyes was in such pain, and so troubled about what might happen to him, that he did not even feel like eating some of the chicken, though he had been hungry a little while before. Now his appetite was all gone.

The little fox did not know what to do. He called again for his father and his mother, and for Twinkle and Winkle, but none of them came. Then, all at once, there was a noise in the bushes, and something seemed to be coming toward Sharp Eyes where he was caught fast in the trap.

“Oh, I hope it’s my father or mother!” thought the fox.

But it was not. Instead, a big dog, who was kind-looking, and not fierce and angry, burst through the bushes.

“Oh dear!” thought Sharp Eyes. “This is the hunter’s dog! Now I am surely lost. They’ll take my silver fur. Oh, if I had only kept out of the trap!”

“‘Hello, what’s the matter here?’ asked the dog.”

Once more Sharp Eyes tried to get loose, but the pain in his leg made him stop. He looked at the dog, and got as far away as he could. But the trap was fast to a chain, of which one end was wound around a tree and could not be pulled off.

“Hello, what’s the matter here?” asked the dog, who, of course, could speak animal talk, though not exactly the same language that Sharp Eyes and his friends used. “What’s the matter?”

“Oh, you know well enough what’s the matter,” said Sharp Eyes sadly. “I’m caught in a trap your master set, and I suppose you and he are coming to get me now.”

“What’s that? A trap? I don’t know anything about a trap,” answered the dog. “And I’m sure my master never set one. He lives in a big house far away from here. I used to live in a house where there was a nice little girl. I liked her very much, and often I went for walks with her. Once I took her to a park menagerie, and she fell into the tank where Chunky, the happy hippo, lived. But Chunky lifted her out of the water on his broad back and saved her. Chunky is a friend of mine.

“My people have taken a bungalow over on the lake off there, and we’re staying there for a while. It’s a good way off from here, but not so far as our real home, where we live all the time.

“To-day I wanted to have some adventures, so I trotted off from my master’s bungalow. They don’t need me to-day, as they have all gone visiting. So I came to the woods, but I never expected to see you. Are you another dog? You look a little like one, only your nose is sharper than mine, and you are not so large.”

“No, I am a fox, and my name is Sharp Eyes,” came the answer. “And I am caught in a trap. But please don’t bite me.”

“Bite you? Why should I bite you?” asked the dog.

“Why, I thought all dogs belonged to hunters or trappers and that they bit us foxes,” said Sharp Eyes.

“Well, I don’t,” was the reply. “My name is Don, and once I was a runaway dog, but I ran back. I am a little like a runaway dog to-day, but I am going to run back home to-night, as soon as I have had some adventures in the woods. This is the start of one, I guess. I’m sorry you are in the trap.”

“Are you, really?” asked Sharp Eyes, who had been taught that all dogs were bad and cruel.

“Of course I am, Sharp Eyes,” answered Don. “I know what it is to be in pain, and I can see that where your paw is caught it must hurt you.”

“Indeed it does,” answered the fox. “I’ve tried to get away but I can’t.”

“How did you get in the trap?” asked Don.

“Oh, I didn’t look closely enough before I made a jump for this chicken. It was right over the trap, to hide it, and now I am fast.”

“Well, maybe you can get loose,” said Don. “I’ll help you. This is what my friend Slicko, the jumping squirrel, would call an adventure.”

“Oh, do you know Slicko?” asked Sharp Eyes, and he was so surprised that he forgot his pain for a moment.

“Of course I know Slicko,” was the answer. “I stayed two or three nights in the same woods with Slicko.”

“Now I know who you are,” went on the fox. “I met Slicko, and we spoke of you, though I never expected to meet you. And who is this Chunky you talked of, and who saved your master’s little girl?”

“Chunky is a hippopotamus, or, as I call him for short, a hippo,” said Don. “He lived in a jungle in Africa for a long time and had lots of adventures. Then he was caught in a pit trap and brought to this country. He was in a circus, and I met him in the park menagerie. He knew Tum Tum, the jolly elephant, Mappo, the merry monkey, and other friends of mine. Chunky had a book written about him. I’ve had a book written about me, too!”

“So had Slicko,” said Sharp Eyes. “My! it seems quite fashionable to get in a book nowadays.”

“It is fashionable,” answered Don. “Almost as fashionable as your silver fur. That’s why you were trapped, I presume. Some hunter wants your fur.”

“I suppose so,” said Sharp Eyes sadly. “Oh, I wish I could get out of this trap!”

“Hark!” cried Don suddenly. “Don’t you hear something?”

“Yes, I do,” answered Sharp Eyes, listening. “But I can’t see anything, held fast as I am.”

“I’ll look,” offered Don, peeping out between two bushes. What he saw made him cry out in animal talk:

“Oh, it’s a man coming with a gun! I guess he’s coming to get you, Sharp Eyes! He must have set the trap.”

“Oh dear! what shall I do?” asked Sharp Eyes.

CHAPTER VI SHARP EYES IS CAPTURED

Don, the kind dog, as soon as he had seen the hunter coming toward the place in the woods where the trap that had caught the fox was set, ran back toward Sharp Eyes.

“What are you going to do?” asked Sharp Eyes.

“I am going to try to help you get loose,” was the answer. “I don’t want to see you taken away by the hunter, and maybe kept until you grow to be a big fox, so they can take off your silver fur. I’m going to try to help you get loose.”

“How?” asked the fox.

“Well, I’ll sort of push you, and you can sort of pull, and maybe you can pull your leg loose from the trap.”

“But it hurts when I pull on it,” said Sharp Eyes.

“No matter,” replied Don. “It is better to be hurt a little on the foot than to be kept a prisoner and maybe be hurt a lot, or even killed, when they take your silver fur. And we must be quick! The hunter will soon be here!”

“Oh, I would like to get away!” cried Sharp Eyes.

“Then pull as hard as you can on your leg that is caught in the trap,” said Don. “There is a way to open spring traps by stepping on them, but I don’t know about it. If my master were here he could do it. But he isn’t. You must help yourself and I’ll help you. Come now, pull!”

“Oh, but it hurts!” whimpered Sharp Eyes, as he pulled a little.

“No matter! It must be done!” said Don. “You pull and I’ll push you, Sharp Eyes.”

Don, the kind dog, put his shoulder against that of Sharp Eyes. The fox pulled on his leg as hard as he could. It hurt him very much, but the hunter could be heard coming nearer and nearer and Sharp Eyes did not want to be caught.

“Pull! Pull!” softly barked Don. “Are you pulling?”

“I am! I am!” answered Sharp Eyes. He felt as if his leg would come off, and the pain in his toes was very bad. But he did not give up, and, at last, with his pulling and Don’s pushing, out came the fox boy’s foot from the trap. Sharp Eyes’ toes were cut, and the skin and fur were scraped off so that he could not put that paw to the ground.

“But don’t mind about that!” barked Don. “You can run on three legs nearly as well as on four. I’ve done it myself when I’ve cut my foot on a sharp stone or a bit of glass. Come on, the hunter is very close! Run!”

So Sharp Eyes ran, and Don ran with him, the fox limping on three legs. The fox and the dog dodged in and out among the bushes and trees of the woods, for they did not want the hunter to see them.

“There, I guess we are far enough away now,” said Don, after a bit. “Do you know your way home, Sharp Eyes?”

“Oh, yes, thank you! Now that I am out of the trap I can easily find it. Won’t you come home with me?”

“No, I guess not. I’m looking for adventures. Besides, if I went home with you, I might scare your folks. They don’t like dogs. But I’m not the hunting kind.”

“Then I’m sure they’d like you,” said Sharp Eyes.

“Well, maybe some other time I’ll come to see you. Trot along home now and look out for traps,” barked Don.

“I will,” promised Sharp Eyes, as he limped along on three legs. The one he had pulled from the trap hurt him very much, and was bleeding a little.

“But I’m glad I’m loose, anyhow,” thought Sharp Eyes. “No more traps for me!”

But you just wait and see what happened to him next.

The hunter, with his dogs and gun, came to the place where he had set the trap and baited it with a chicken.

“Something has been here!” said the man. “The trap is sprung, but there is nothing here now. I wonder what it was and how it got away.”

His dog smelled around the trap, and then ran off through the woods, barking. The dog had smelled the path taken by Don and Sharp Eyes, and was after them—on the “trail” as the hunters say.

The hunter looked at the trap more closely. He saw some bits of hair on the jaws.

“It must have been a fox,” said the hunter. “But the hairs are of silver color, and not red like most foxes! A silver fox! If I could capture him it would be great! Silver fox skins are rare! I must set another kind of trap for this fox. I wonder how he got away.”

The hunter could not guess that Don, the kind dog, had helped the fox to get free, and was now running with him through the woods. The hunter’s own particular hunting dog was also on the trail of the fox, but pretty soon he came to a brook. There the fox smell stopped.

The dog barked and howled, and ran up and down the stream, but he could not smell the fox any more, and that is the only way he had of following—by the smell, or “scent.”

“Come on back,” said the hunter, as he followed on and saw where his dog had stopped. “The fox has crossed running water, and the trail is lost. I’ll set a better trap for him next time—one that will capture him alive. It would be a pity to spoil that fine silver pelt in a spring trap, or by shooting. Come on!”

The hunter whistled to his dog, and they went back through the woods, giving up the chase for that day. When running away, Sharp Eyes and Don had been cute enough to go into the running water and wade part way up the brook.

The brook left no smell of the paws of Don or of Sharp Eyes, and the hunter’s hound could not follow. When they can, wild animals will always cross a stream, or wade up or down it, to lose their scent so hunting dogs can not follow.

“Well, I’ll leave you here,” said Don to Sharp Eyes, when they had run on through the woods for some distance, after crossing and wading in the brook. “I’ll go and see if I can have any more adventures.”

“Wasn’t helping me one?” asked Sharp Eyes.

“Yes, it was,” answered Don. “And if ever a book is written about you, I hope that part is put in.”

“Oh, there’ll never be a book written about me!” said Sharp Eyes.

But that shows how little he knew about it, doesn’t it?

“Do you think you’ll be all right?” asked Don.

“Oh, yes, thank you. I can get home all right now,” said Sharp Eyes. “I’ll have to limp on three legs for a while, but that’s nothing.”

“It’s better than being held fast in the trap,” said the dog.

“Indeed it is!” agreed the fox.

Then Sharp Eyes hurried on until he reached his home in the hollow log. By this time his father and mother, with Twinkle and Winkle, had come back from the hunt. They had some partridges and wood mice, and there was plenty for all to eat.

“Oh, my poor little Sharp Eyes!” said Mrs. Fox, when she saw him. “What hurt you?”

“I got caught in a trap,” he answered, and he told all that had happened, and how Don had helped him get loose.

“That dog was very kind to you,” remarked Twinkle.

“Yes, indeed he was. But you must be more careful,” said Mr. Fox gravely. “The next time you get caught, Sharp Eyes, you may not get out so easily. A scraped paw is nothing. You were very lucky.”

Sharp Eyes thought so himself, and the next few days, as he limped around through the woods, he kept a careful watch for traps or other signs of danger. But he saw none.

In about a week his foot was well enough for him to use again in walking or running, but he still limped a little. It was not quite all healed.

One morning, very early, Sharp Eyes got up before any of the others, and started out of the hollow log house.

“I’m going through the woods and down by that farmhouse,” said the fox to himself. “Maybe I can find a fat duck for breakfast.”

Sharp Eyes did not go near the place where he had been caught in the trap. He did not like to remember it, and he thought perhaps there might be another set there to catch him. So he went about a mile out of his way, and then circled around toward the farm.

Before he reached it, and while still in the woods, the fox heard a noise which sounded like:

“Cock-a-doodle-do!”

“Ha! I know what that is!” said Sharp Eyes. “That’s a rooster! The same sort of bird I once thought was a wild turkey. Well, I am pretty good at catching things now, and maybe I can catch that rooster. I’m going to try!”

Carefully, Sharp Eyes crept through the woods. The sound of the rooster’s crowing sounded louder now, and it seemed to stay in the same place.

“He doesn’t hear me coming, or see me or smell me,” thought Sharp Eyes. “Maybe I can get close enough up to him to grab him. But I must be careful of traps!”

On and on through the woods crept Sharp Eyes softly. He came to a little place where the trees had been cut down, and in the center of this clearing was what seemed to be a box. The crowing of the rooster came from inside this box.

“Oh, ho!” thought Sharp Eyes. “This is a henhouse—the same kind I went into down at that farm, and brought out a fat duck. There is a rooster in this little henhouse, and I’ll go in and get him. Then I’ll have a fine dinner!”

“Cock-a-doodle-do!” crowed the rooster.

“I’m coming to get you!” laughed Sharp Eyes to himself.

Nearer and nearer he went. He could look right in the box, now, and see the rooster. The crowing fowl did not come out.

“But I’ll soon fetch you out!” said Sharp Eyes. He looked all about on the ground. He could see no traps in sight. The fox thought it was all right.

Softly he went up to the box. He went inside. At the far end he could see the rooster, which was tied fast by one leg. That was the reason it could not get out.

“Ah, ha! Now I have you!” thought Sharp Eyes.

He made a spring, inside the box, after the fowl. And just then something happened. There was a clicking noise behind the fox, and, all of a sudden, it got dark.

“This is queer!” thought Sharp Eyes. “That click sounded just like a trap, but I am not caught fast, as I was by my paw the other time. I feel no pain. Still maybe this is a trick. I guess I’d better go out again, and look around some more.”

He turned to go out, but found he could not. Behind him a door had sprung shut. Sharp Eyes was caught in the dark box with the rooster. The little fox was captured! He was in another kind of trap!

CHAPTER VII SHARP EYES IS SOLD

If you have ever been shut up in a dark closet, and could not open the door to get out, you can imagine how bad Sharp Eyes felt. Just as you may have done, he banged against the walls, and pushed against the door, but it would not open.

“Oh dear!” whimpered the fox. “This is terrible! Here I am caught in a trap again, and I said I’d be careful! I wonder how I can get out of here!”

Sharp Eyes looked about him. He saw that, surely enough, he was in a trap, though a different kind from the one that had hurt his foot, and had made him walk lame. This one did not pinch him. Then the fox looked at the rooster, whose crowing had brought him to the trap.

The rooster was not crowing now. I suppose he was too badly frightened at having the fox so near him. But when Sharp Eyes looked again he saw that he could not get the rooster, even though they were both in the trap.

For the rooster was in the back part, behind a screen of wire netting, and though Sharp Eyes had very keen teeth, they could not gnaw through wire.

“Anyhow, I don’t feel like eating a rooster now,” said the fox to himself. “I want to get out of here.”

Once more he looked around the trap in which he was caught. The fox did not know much about traps, but he could easily see that this one was not going to be easy to get out from. It was like a big box, open at one end, and it was through this open end that Sharp Eyes had walked in.

As soon as he was inside, the open end of the box closed with a wooden door, which snapped shut, just as might the door of a closet in which you had gone to play hide-and-go-seek.

Sharp Eyes pushed hard against this end door. He pushed against the sides of the box, and he pushed against the wire screen behind which the rooster stood. But the fox could not get out. Neither could the rooster, and the fowl fluttered about every time the fox moved, thinking, I suppose, that something dreadful was going to happen.

But nothing did happen, at least for a while. The fox was shut up in the trap, and all his trying could not get him out.

“Maybe if I call for my father and mother, or for Don, the nice dog who helped me before, they will come and save me,” thought Sharp Eyes.

So he howled softly, and barked a little, almost like a dog, for a fox is really a sort of wild dog.

No one answered his calls for help, however, and then the fox, feeling very sad, curled himself up in one corner of the box-trap and tried to think what was best to do. For foxes and other wild animals do think, in a way, and foxes, especially, are very smart at keeping out of traps, or getting loose once they are caught. But there seemed to be no way out for Sharp Eyes this time.

“It was silly of me to come in here after this rooster,” thought the fox boy. “I thought this box was a little chicken coop, but it was nothing but a trap. Oh dear!”

All of a sudden Sharp Eyes sat up. He heard some one coming through the woods. He could hear the rustle of dried leaves and the cracking of little sticks as they were stepped on and broken. At first Sharp Eyes thought perhaps his father or mother, or some of the other foxes, might be coming to help him. But as the noise grew louder, the fox said:

“That can’t be any of my friends. They would never make as much noise as that”; for, you know, wild animals go through the woods very softly indeed.

“Maybe it’s Don, come to help me again,” thought Sharp Eyes. “I’ll call to him.”

So, in animal talk, Sharp Eyes called:

“Don! Don! Is that you? I’m in another trap! Please help me out!”

Sharp Eyes listened, but he did not hear Don’s voice in answer. Instead he heard man-talk, or, as afterward it turned out to be, boy-talk.

“Hark!” cried one boy. “Did you hear that?”

“Yes, I did,” answered another. “It sounded like a dog barking.”

“It’s in my trap, whatever it is,” said the first boy. “But I don’t believe it’s a dog.”

Of course Sharp Eyes did not understand what the boys were talking about, for he could not talk to them nor could they speak to him. But, very shortly, Sharp Eyes saw four eyes looking down in at him from the top of the cage.

“Oh, something’s in your trap!” cried a boy, whose name was Jack.

“Yes, and it’s a fox—a silver fox!” shouted a boy, whose name was Tom. “Say, this is a fine catch! I can get some money for his fur!”

“You can?” asked Jack.

“I surely can! Silver foxes are worth a lot of money. I never thought I’d get one when I set my trap here, but I have. I’ve caught a dandy silver fox with our old rooster for bait.”

“Didn’t the fox eat the rooster?” asked Jack.

“No, he couldn’t,” replied Tom. “I put the rooster behind a wire screen in one part of my box trap, and left the other end open for a fox to come in. As soon as he did, he knocked down a stick that held the spring door open, and the door shut down and caught the fox.”

“What are you going to do with him?” asked Jack.

“Well, I’ll take him home, and then I’ll have my father take off his skin and sell it. Come on, help me carry the fox home.”

“But won’t he bite?” asked Jack.

“We won’t let him out of the trap,” said Tom. “He can’t get out. We’ll carry him home, trap and all.”

“And the rooster, too?”

“Yes, the rooster too. He was good bait. I thought a fox would come to my trap if he heard a rooster crow.”

And that is just what happened, you know, though Sharp Eyes did not understand all that the boys were talking about.

Through the woods, for mile after mile, Tom and Jack carried Sharp Eyes in the trap. At last they came to some fields and, crossing these, they reached the house where Tom lived. His father was chopping wood and another man was standing near. This man had a gun, and beside him lay a hunting dog.

“Hello, Tom, what have you there?” asked his father.

“I caught a fox in my trap,” answered the boy. “It’s a silver fox, too!”

“A silver fox!” cried the man with the gun. “Did you say a fox with silver-colored fur?”

“That’s what he is!” answered Tom, a bit proudly. At the same time the dog jumped up, and, sniffing at the box-trap, began to bark. Poor Sharp Eyes was much frightened, and scrambled around in his cage, trying hard to get out. But he could not.

“Be quiet, Skip!” called the hunter to his dog. “You won’t have to chase this fox. He is safely caught. What are you going to do with him?” the hunter asked Tom.

“Sell his fur. I’ve heard that silver fox skins bring a big price down in the city.”

“That’s right, they do,” said the hunter. “Let me take a look at this one.”

Tom opened a little slide in the top of the trap. It was not large enough for Sharp Eyes to jump out of, but it gave a good view of him. The hunter looked down at the fox. He saw that one paw had been hurt and was only just healed.

“Well, I do declare!” exclaimed the hunter. “I believe that is the same silver fox that got out of my trap, Tom. You are very lucky. A silver fox skin is valuable. But you will not get much for this one.”

“Why not?” asked Tom.

“Because it is too small. You will have to wait for the fox to grow. Then his skin will be worth twice as much. But if you don’t want to wait, Tom, I’ll buy this fox from you alive, and I’ll keep him until he is big. Then I can sell the skin.”

Tom thought about it. He wanted money now, and did not like to have to wait, perhaps a year, for Sharp Eyes to grow.

“Yes,” said Tom to the man, “I’ll sell you this silver fox.”

So Sharp Eyes was sold to the very hunter from whose trap Don had helped him to escape, though the fox did not know this was the same man and the dog who had chased him. The dog was sniffing and snuffing around the trap.

“Come away from there, Skip!” ordered his master. “You can’t chase that fox. I’ve got him safe now.”

So the hunter paid Tom a goodly sum of money for the silver fox, and took him away in a box, into which he was turned from the trap. The rooster was let out of his side of the trap, being no longer needed for bait. And my! how gladly that rooster crowed! He must have felt, all the while, that he was going to be eaten by the fox.

As for Sharp Eyes, the hunter carried him away through the woods, to his own log cabin, putting him in a strong box, on a wagon drawn by a horse.

“Well, I wonder what will happen to me next,” thought the silver fox. “I seem to have gone from one trap to another. But this one is larger than the one where the rooster was.”

This was not really a trap, it was a box, and it had some soft straw in it on which Sharp Eyes could lie down. And he was so tired, and lonesome for his own folks, that he stretched out and tried to sleep. But it was hard work, for the wagon jolted over the rough roads of the forest. Sharp Eyes had been sold, and was going to have some new adventures, but just what kind he did not know.

CHAPTER VIII SHARP EYES GOES TRAVELING

For many days, weeks and months Sharp Eyes was kept shut up in a box at the cabin of the hunter who had bought him from Tom. The silver fox was not kept in the same small cage in which he had traveled through the woods. The hunter knew better than to do that, for he wanted the fox to be well and strong, so his fur would grow thicker and longer and more fluffy as Sharp Eyes grew.

“We must make a nice cage for you, and tame you a bit, so you will eat well and be happy,” said the hunter, when he got Sharp Eyes safely to his cabin. “I think I can soon make you so tame you will not fret, and always want to get out.”

So the hunter made, near his cabin in the woods, a nice large cage for Sharp Eyes, the silver fox. There were two parts to the cage, one a dark one, with cool earth for the floor, but with tin underneath the earth, so Sharp Eyes could not dig his way out, for foxes are almost as good diggers as are dogs, when dogs bury bones.

In this dark part of his cage Sharp Eyes could sleep and rest at night, away from all danger. The other part of his cage was made of strong wire, and was open on all sides and the top, so plenty of fresh air and sunshine and even rain could come in.

Foxes and other animals must have fresh air and sunshine, and they do not mind being wet in the rain, for it all helps them to grow big and strong. And the hunter wanted Sharp Eyes to become a big fox, with a fine, shiny coat of fur.

“I’ll make his cage as near like the woods as I can,” the hunter said, so he put bits of stumps, rocks and branches of trees in the open part, so that it looked a little like the woods. There was also clean, cool water to drink.

“But it isn’t the woods at all,” thought the unhappy Sharp Eyes, as he roved about in the wire part of his new cage. “In the woods I can run as far as I like, but here, when I go a little way, I bump my nose against the wooden or the wire walls. I can not get out. I am as much in a trap as ever, even if it is a larger one. Oh dear! I wish I could get loose!”

Sharp Eyes tried all the ways he knew of getting out of his cage near the cabin in the woods, but the cage was made too strong for him. The hunter well knew how to do such things.

For a time Sharp Eyes felt so bad about being caught that he would not eat. Even when the hunter put bits of wild turkey in the cage, Sharp Eyes would not look at them.

But wild animals can not very long stand being hungry, any more than can boys and girls. Sharp Eyes sniffed the good things the hunter put in to make him eat, and at last, after he had taken a drink of cool water, he felt that he must chew something with his sharp teeth. He went over, nibbled at a bit of partridge the hunter had tossed in, and it tasted so good, that Sharp Eyes said to himself:

“Oh, I might as well eat! I don’t believe that I’ll ever get out of here. I may as well make the best of it.”

So he ate and felt better. The hunter came and looked at Sharp Eyes.

“Ah, ha!” exclaimed the man, “you are eating, I see. I am glad of it. Now you will grow big, and your silver coat of fur will grow big on you and I can take it off and sell it. Get big and fat, little fox.”

Of course Sharp Eyes did not know what this meant, but he ate just the same, and felt better. Then he ran around his cage looking for some way of getting out, but there seemed none. The wooden and wire walls were as strong as ever.

So the days and nights passed. Often in the night, when the hunter was fast asleep, Sharp Eyes would call, in animal language, for some of the dwellers of the woods to come to him and help him get out.

“Help me to get loose!” the fox boy would softly whine. But none came near him who could help him. Not many wild animals, and no foxes, would come close to the clearing in which the hunter’s cabin stood.

Now and then a night bird, flying in the trees overhead, heard the call of Sharp Eyes, and asked him:

“What is the matter?”

“Oh, I want to get out of here!” would answer the fox. “Can’t you fly and tell my father or mother to get me out of this cage?”

“I’ll try,” the bird would promise, just as some of the friends of Chunky, the happy hippo, had promised to go to get Tum Tum, the elephant, to help him out of the pit trap. But Tum Tum could not be found then, nor could the birds find Mr. or Mrs. Fox. The father and mother of Sharp Eyes were deep in the North Woods.

Sometimes at night Sharp Eyes would cry for Don, the dog, to come to help him get out of the cage, as Don had helped the fox pull loose from the spring trap. And one night Don, who was roving in the woods far away from his master’s house, as he had done once before, passed near the hunter’s cabin.

“What! are you here, Sharp Eyes?” asked the dog, in surprise.

“Yes,” answered the wild creature. “Can’t you help me get out?”

“I’ll try,” answered Don.

But Sharp Eyes’ cage was made strong to keep animals from getting in, as well as to keep Sharp Eyes from getting out, and Don could do nothing.

“I’m sorry,” he said to Sharp Eyes. “It needs some one stronger than I am to break open your cage. If I could only get Chunky, the happy hippo, here, he could open your cage with one shove of his big head.”

“Can’t you get him here?” asked Sharp Eyes, eagerly.

“I’m afraid not,” answered the dog. “He is in the park menagerie far away. You’ll never see Chunky.”

But just you wait and see what happens.

So Sharp Eyes was kept in the hunter’s cage for nearly a year. And in that time the silver fox grew quite tame. He saw that the hunter was not going to hurt him—at least for a while, and the man brought good things for the fox to eat and nice water to drink.

After a while Sharp Eyes let the man put his hand through a hole in the wire, and the fox did not try to bite as he had done at first. Then, a little later, Sharp Eyes let the man pat him on the head, and the fox rather liked it.

“Hunters are not so bad as I thought,” said Sharp Eyes to himself. “This one doesn’t shoot me, anyhow.”

And even the hunter’s dog did not bark or growl at the fox as much as it had at first. The two never were very good friends, but they did not snap at one another as they had done during the first days after Sharp Eyes was brought to the cabin in the woods.

“I chased after you once,” said the hunter’s dog to Sharp Eyes.

“Yes, I know you did, Skip,” replied the fox, in animal language. “But Red Tail and I waded in a brook of water, and then you could not smell us to come after us.”

“Yes, you fooled me,” said the dog, with a sort of barking laugh. “I was mad at the time, but I’ve gotten over it now.”

“Would you chase me again if you had the chance?” asked Sharp Eyes.

“Yes, I guess I would,” answered the dog. “You see, I am used to hunting, and I can’t get over it so soon, even if you are a tamer fox than you were at first. If you get out of the cage I’ll have to bring you back, but I’ll try not to hurt you.”

“Then I guess I’d better be careful how I get out of this cage,” thought Sharp Eyes to himself. “I must not do it when Skip, the dog, is near. But I would like to get away.”

More days passed. Sharp Eyes kept on getting big and strong until he was nearly as large as Skip.

Then one day a strange man came to the cabin in the woods where the hunter lived. This man looked like a hunter, but he carried no gun. Instead, over his back, slung on a strap, was a black box.

“I suppose that is some other kind of trap,” thought Sharp Eyes as he saw it. “These men seem never to let us animals alone.”

But Sharp Eyes was mistaken. What the new man had on his back was not a trap, but a camera for taking pictures of wild animals and birds. He had come to the woods to do this. He was hunting animals in a new way, but Sharp Eyes did not know that.

“What have you in this cage?” asked the camera man of the hunter.

“That is a silver fox,” was the answer. “I am letting him grow big so his fur will be larger. It will make a nice muff and neck piece for some woman.”

“‘These men seem never to let us animals alone.’”

“Oh, it would be a shame to kill that fox just for his fur!” said the camera man. “Why not keep him alive?”

“I paid money for him,” said the hunter, “and I need to get back more money for him.”

“Then I will buy him of you alive,” said the camera man. “I’ll pay you.”

“What will you do with him?” asked the hunter.

“I’ll not kill him,” answered the other. “That would be too bad. I think I will put him in a place where many people can come to look at him. He is a handsome fox, and I’d like to have the boys and girls, as well as grown-ups, see him. Sell him to me alive.”

“I will,” said the hunter, and he did.

By this time Sharp Eyes was quite tame, but he could not be allowed to run around loose. He was let out of his cage, sometimes, but there was a collar around his neck, such as some dogs wear, and a chain was fast to the collar. So Sharp Eyes could go only as far as the chain let him. But this was better than being shut in the wire cage. Sharp Eyes liked it outside.

The camera man bought Sharp Eyes and put him in a large box. Then the box was put on a wagon and once more the silver fox was traveling. Only this time he went a long way.

From the wagon the box, with the silver fox in it, was put on a train (though Sharp Eyes did not know what that was) and taken farther and farther away from the woods.

Sharp Eyes rode on the train in his wooden cage. He was a little frightened, but not very much, for he was used to having men around him now, and some of the trainmen gave him bits of meat to eat and water to drink.

Finally, after he had been traveling on the train for a long, long while, Sharp Eyes looked out of an open door, and through the bars of his cage. The train had stopped and, not far away, Sharp Eyes could see what looked like a big, white house, with gaily-colored flags, floating from poles and ropes, on it.

“Oh, what is that?” asked Sharp Eyes aloud, in animal talk, before he remembered there was no one in the railroad car to answer.

But, just then, the silver fox saw, standing on the ground outside his car, a great big animal that seemed to have two tails.

“Ha! So you want to know what that white house is, do you?” asked the big animal of Sharp Eyes. “Well, that is a circus tent, and I belong to the circus!”

CHAPTER IX SHARP EYES IN THE ZOO

The train in which Sharp Eyes, the silver fox, was riding had stopped so the engine could get a drink of water, and it happened to stop near the circus tent, which was the white thing Sharp Eyes had thought was the large house. So the fox had time to talk to the big animal who had spoken in such a friendly way.

“Oh, so that is a circus, is it?” asked Sharp Eyes. “Seems to me I have heard that name before. I wonder where it was? But who are you, may I ask, and why have you two tails?”

“There it goes again!” cried the big creature. “Every one who sees me for the first time thinks I have two tails. Even Chunky, the happy hippo, thought that.”

“Oh, Chunky! That’s where I heard the word circus before. Don, the dog, told me that Chunky was once in a circus before he was put in a park menagerie.”

“Oh, ho! So you know Don, the dog, do you?” asked the big animal who belonged to the circus.

“Yes,” answered Sharp Eyes, “I do. Don once helped me to get out of a pinching trap. But no one helped me out of the trap where the rooster was. That’s why I’m here now.”

“What is your name?” asked the big animal. The fox told and then inquired:

“And what is your name, if you please, and why have you two tails?”

“I haven’t,” was the answer. “That’s a mistake. I am Tum Tum, the jolly elephant, and one of the dingle-dangle-down things is my trunk, in which I pick up peanuts. The other is my tail.”

“Oh, I see!” exclaimed Sharp Eyes. “So you are Tum Tum! I think I heard Slicko, the squirrel, speak of you.”

“Yes, we are good friends.”

“And Don often mentioned you,” went on the silver fox. “But it seems to me he said you had left the circus, and had gone back to the jungle to help catch and train wild elephants.”

“I did,” answered Tum Tum. “I was there for a while. But now I am back in the circus again. It was while I was on a sort of visit to the jungle that I met Chunky, the happy hippo, and pulled him out of a mud hole.”

“And where is Chunky now?” asked Sharp Eyes. “I would like to see him.”

“He was with this circus,” answered Tum Tum, the elephant, “but now he is in the park zoo, or menagerie, as they call it to be stylish. Did Don tell you how Chunky saved a little girl who fell into his tank?”

“Yes,” answered Sharp Eyes, “he did. Chunky must be real smart.”

“Well, not as smart as a fox, for I have heard that they are very smart and cunning,” returned the elephant. “But still Chunky does very well. He can do tricks, and he has had a book written about him.”

“There it goes again!” cried Sharp Eyes. “Every one seems to be in a book; but I’m not.”

“Maybe you will be some day,” said Tum Tum. “You are young yet. But tell me—why did they catch you and put you in a box on a train? Can you do circus tricks?”

“No,” replied the fox. “But they think my silver fur is worth much money. That’s why they caught me. I wish I was red or brown, and then they wouldn’t bother me so. But silver foxes are rare, they say.”

“I believe they are,” went on the elephant. “I have been in a circus a long while and I never saw a silver fox before, nor are there any in the zoological park, where Chunky lives.

“But I must be going,” went on Tum Tum, the jolly elephant. “I have to push some of the heavy wagons around the circus lot. They always call on me for that, as I am so strong. I hope you’ll have a nice time where you are going.”

“I don’t expect to have,” answered Sharp Eyes. “It is no fun to be shut up in a cage. I wish I could walk around loose, like you.”

“I guess I’m too big to be in a cage,” said Tum Tum, “though they have sort of cages for elephants in the parks. Well, good-bye! Maybe I’ll see you again.”

“I hope so,” replied Sharp Eyes, who liked the big, jolly chap.

So the elephant went to push the circus wagons, and the train puffed away with the silver fox.

All the while, as the train rumbled on, Sharp Eyes wondered where he was being taken.

“If my silver fur is worth so much,” thought Sharp Eyes, “I suppose they are carrying me to some place where they can take it off. I shall not like that. I want my fur left on. I’ll be cold in the winter without my nice fur coat.”

Sometimes hunting dogs were brought into the same car with Sharp Eyes. The dogs became very much excited when they saw the fox in his cage, and barked at him. But they could not get at him, for the cage was made of heavy wire. Still, Sharp Eyes did not like to be barked at.

“Why don’t you be quiet and let me alone?” he asked the dogs, in animal talk.

“Oh, we are hunting dogs and we always bark at a fox,” said one of the dogs.

“Well, I have a dog friend named Don, and he doesn’t bark at me,” went on the silver fox.

“We don’t know Don,” said the hunting dogs, and they barked louder than ever.

Once a monkey in a cage was brought into the same car with Sharp Eyes. The monkey did not seem happy, but crouched in a corner.

“Who are you, where are you going and what’s the matter?” asked Sharp Eyes.

“My name is Chacko,” answered the monkey, “and I am being taken to a zoological park.”

“Well, don’t feel sad about that,” advised Sharp Eyes. “I have heard of a hippo named Chunky who is in a zoo, and he is very happy.”

“Has he the toothache?” asked Chacko.

“I don’t believe he has,” answered Sharp Eyes.

“No wonder he is happy then,” went on the monkey. “I have the toothache very bad.”

“I’m sorry,” said Sharp Eyes. “I wish I could help you, but I can’t get out of my cage. Did you ever hear of Mappo, a merry monkey?”

“Has he the toothache?” asked Chacko.

“I hardly think he has,” the fox answered.

“Well, then I don’t know him,” said the other, holding his paw up to his jaw. “I never heard of Mappo.”

“Tum Tum, or some of the animal friends I have met, spoke of him,” said Sharp Eyes. “He likes cocoanuts I believe.”

“Oh, we monkeys all do,” said Chacko. “But I couldn’t eat any now, on account of my tooth. However, I don’t know Mappo.”

Sharp Eyes talked a little while longer to Chacko, to try to make the little furry chap forget his troubles, and the monkey did for a time. Then Sharp Eyes went to sleep.

Sharp Eyes was suddenly awakened by feeling his cage lifted up and set down again. The fox could feel the wind blowing on him, and he knew he must be outside the train. But he liked the fresh air.

“I wonder where I am?” he inquired, partly aloud.

“We are on a wagon, being ridden through the streets of a big city,” answered Chacko, the monkey, who was on the same wagon as Sharp Eyes, but in a different cage. The monkey’s toothache was better now.

“What’s a city?” asked Sharp Eyes.

“Oh,” answered the monkey, “it’s a place where they have more houses than there are trees in the woods, but I don’t like it. Once I was in a city park menagerie, and I never got half enough peanuts. I don’t like the noise, either.”

There was a great deal of noise as the wagon, with the cages of Sharp Eyes and Chacko on it, rattled through the streets.

At last the wagon turned into a quieter place, where there was much green grass and many trees.

“Oh! are they taking me back home again?” asked Sharp Eyes aloud, as he saw the trees. “This looks a little like my home,” and he looked down from the wagon, hoping to see a hollow tree.

“No, this is not the forest,” said Chacko, the monkey. “This is a menagerie, or zoo. I remember the place. I lived here a number of years ago. I am glad to be back, for here the children give you many peanuts. They don’t feed them all to the squirrels.”

“And so this is a zoo, is it?” asked Sharp Eyes.

“Yes, that’s what it is,” answered the monkey. “We’ll soon be put in larger cages, where the boys and girls can see us. You’ll like it in the zoo, Sharp Eyes.”

“I hope I shall,” returned the silver fox. “Oh, there is my friend Tum Tum!” he cried, as he caught sight of an elephant.

CHAPTER X SHARP EYES MEETS CHUNKY

Sharp Eyes’ cage was being lifted down from the wagon, on which it had been brought to the park from the train, when the silver fox called out about the elephant. His cage was set down on the ground, near where some of the big animals, with trunks and tails, were swaying to and fro behind big, strong bars.

“Who did you say it was?” asked Chacko, as his cage was placed beside that of Sharp Eyes.

“Tum Tum, the jolly elephant,” answered the silver fox. “I see him over there.”

“My name is not Tum Tum,” said the elephant, for he had heard what Sharp Eyes said.

“Not Tum Tum!” exclaimed the fox. “Then what is it?”

“My name is Bunga,” was the answer. “But I have heard of your friend Tum Tum. He is in a circus, is he not?”

“Yes,” answered Sharp Eyes. “I met him not long ago. He had been on a sort of vacation in the jungle, but now he is back in the circus. I thought, at first, that you were he.”

“No, but all we elephants look pretty much alike,” said Bunga, “so I don’t wonder you made a mistake. How is Tum Tum?”

“Very well and jolly,” answered Sharp Eyes.

“Oh, he always was that,” said another elephant. “Tum Tum never was cross or unhappy.”

“I was unhappy when my paw was caught in a pinching trap,” said Sharp Eyes. “I hope I shall be happy here.”

“We’ll try to make you so,” put in a long-necked giraffe, looking over the tops of the walls of his cage, in which he was kept next to the elephants. “We are always glad to see new animals come in,” went on the giraffe. “We get sort of lonesome just among ourselves. Tell us, have you had any adventures?”

“No, not any, I’m sorry to say.”

“Oh, yes you have!” chattered Chacko, the monkey, to whom the fox had talked in the train. “You’ve had lots of adventures! You found a wild turkey, and you got out of one trap and into another, and you were chased by a dog.”

“Are those adventures?” asked Sharp Eyes, in surprise.

“Of course,” answered Bunga, the elephant. “Please tell us about them.”

So Sharp Eyes told the zoo animals all that had happened to him.

“And now you are here,” said Bunga, when the fox had finished.

“Yes, I am here,” agreed the fox. “And I expect the next thing they’ll do will be to take off my silver skin and sell it,” he added sadly.

“Take off your skin and sell it? Well, I guess not!” growled a tiger in the next cage. “They would no more skin you than they would me! They keep us for people to look at. Make your mind easy. You will not be hurt while you are in the zoo. You can not get away, it is true, but you will have a good place to stay, and all you want to eat.

“I used to think, when I first came here, that I would like to go back to the jungle, but there I had to sneak out at night to get something to eat, or water to drink. Here they bring it to me. Of course I am shut up in a cage, but it is not so bad.”

“Really won’t they take off my fur?”

“No indeed!” said the elephant.

“Then I’m glad,” went on the fox. “I’ll try to like it here in the zoo, though I’ll miss the North Woods and my father, mother, my sister Winkle and my brother Twinkle.”

“Oh, you’ll like it here after you get used to being stared at by the crowd of boys and girls and the men and women who come in,” said a lion, in a cage next the tiger.

So the animals talked among themselves, trying to make Sharp Eyes feel at home, for an animal gets almost as lonesome and homesick in a strange place as you boys and girls might do.

After a while some men came and lifted up the cage of the silver fox, from where it had been placed when taken off the wagon, and carried it to a large building. Along the walls were many other cages, and in one end was a very large one.

The bars of the big cage were set very far apart, and when the fox saw them he said to himself:

“Ha! if they put me in that cage, with such wide-apart bars in front, I can easily slip out between them and go back to where my father and mother live in the hollow log. I must try to run away.”

Sharp Eyes looked a little closer, and noticed that there was a big pool of water—about a hundred bath tubs full I guess—at one end of the big cage.

“Ha! I’d like to get a drink there,” thought the silver fox. “I am very thirsty!”

Just then, all of a sudden, one of the men carrying the cage in which the fox was still locked, let his end of the box fall. Then the other man dropped his end, and down the fox cage crashed to the stone floor in the animal house.

“Look out!” cried one of the men. “The cage will break and that silver fox will get out!”

And that is just what happened. The cage crashed to the floor, one end burst open, and the next minute Sharp Eyes found himself free.

“Oh, at last I can run away!” he thought to himself. “But first I’ll go and get a drink of water in that pool inside the big-barred cage. Then I’ll run away.”

Before any of the men could grab him, Sharp Eyes made a dash toward the big pool. Down into it ran a sloping walk, or little hill of stone. Down this Sharp Eyes walked until he could put his nose in the water.

Sharp Eyes was just going to take a drink when, all at once, he noticed that the water in the pool was moving. Then, suddenly, something big and dark brown rose up, as if from the bottom. Sharp Eyes saw a big mouth open right in front of him. It was a mouth so big that it looked like the front door of a real house, and inside it was lined with something that seemed to be red flannel. And then, out of the mouth, came a puffing sound, and the big animal who belonged to the big mouth, made a grunting noise, as though gaping and stretching after a sleep.

“Oh, my!” cried Sharp Eyes, as he saw the big mouth. “Who are you, if you please?”

“I might ask the same thing of you,” went on the big animal, as he walked up the stone hill, water dripping off him.

“I am called Sharp Eyes, the silver fox,” was the answer, “and I have had many adventures, but they have not been put into a book as yet.”

You see Sharp Eyes didn’t know about this book just then.

“I’ve had adventures also, and they have been put into a book,” went on the big creature.

“What is your name?” asked Sharp Eyes.

“I am Chunky, the happy hippo, and—”

“Oh, I’ve heard about you!” interrupted Sharp Eyes.

“You have?” asked Chunky. “Perhaps you read a copy of the book in which I am spoken of?”

“No, I can’t read,” said Sharp Eyes. “But I heard Don, the dog, telling about you. I liked to hear about you.”

“That’s very nice of you,” said Chunky. “Yes, Don and I were great friends. Did Don tell you how I saved the little girl who fell into my pool?”

“Yes,” answered Sharp Eyes, “he did. It was very nice of you to save her.”

“Pooh! that was nothing,” said Chunky. “When I saw you standing on the edge of my pool, I thought it was some one else who had fallen in, and I came up to see about it. But I am glad to meet you.”

“And I’m glad to meet you,” said Sharp Eyes. “Very glad indeed to meet you, Chunky. Now I wonder what I had better do—run away now that I am out of my cage, or stay and let them put me in another? What would you do, Chunky?”

“I’d stay here in the zoo,” said the happy hippo. “They will give you nice things to eat and clean water to drink. It is better than the jungle or the woods. Stay here and be happy.”

“I guess I will,” said Sharp Eyes.

By this time the menagerie men had run toward the hippo’s cage. They saw Sharp Eyes standing by the big, squatty creature.

“Don’t let him get away!” cried a tall man with a long, sharp hook in his hand. “Catch the silver fox! Don’t let him escape!”

So the men, with ropes and long poles, ran to catch Sharp Eyes before he could get out of the hippo’s cage. But Sharp Eyes was not going to run away.

“Get him! Get him!” cried the men, one to the other. “Get the silver fox!”

CHAPTER XI SHARP EYES GETS AWAY

For a time there was much excitement in the animal house of the park, where Sharp Eyes had gotten out of his cage. At first the men did not see where he had run to—inside the hippo’s cage. But when they found him they were very anxious to get Sharp Eyes back.

People who had come into the park to look at the animals, heard the shouts and saw men running about.

“What is the matter?” asked several.

“Oh, one of the animals is loose,” answered a policeman.

“Maybe it’s a lion or a tiger!” cried a woman with a baby in her arms. “Come on, children!” and she caught the hand of her little boy, who, in turn held the hand of his sister, and they all ran out.

Some of the other men, women and children also ran out when they heard that a lion was loose. But this was not so. It was only Sharp Eyes, and he was so tame now that he would have bitten no one.

“Get him! There he is! There’s the fox!” cried the head animal man, as he pointed to Sharp Eyes inside the hippo’s cage. “Bring up one of the small dens, on wheels, and we’ll drive the fox into that.”

The men stood in front of Chunky’s cage with sticks and ropes, to drive Sharp Eyes back if he should try to run out. But the fox was not going to do anything like that.

“I said I’d stay here, and I will,” he explained to Chunky, in animal talk, of course. “They needn’t make so much fuss about me going to run away. I’m not!”

And Sharp Eyes did not. He stayed quietly in Chunky’s cage, talking to the hippo in animal language, until the park men brought up a sort of traveling cage, and opened it. Then Sharp Eyes said to the hippo:

“Well, I’ll go in there, as they seem to want me to. Anyhow, it’s a nicer cage than the one I was in. I’ll see you again, Chunky, my boy.”

“I hope so,” said the happy hippo, who always seemed to be smiling. “Next time I see you, Sharp Eyes, remind me to tell you a funny story about Tum Tum.”

“I will,” said Sharp Eyes.

Then the animal men wheeled the cage with the fox in it away.

“Say,” said one of the men to the others, “that silver fox didn’t give us any trouble.”

“No,” was the answer. “I thought sure we’d have to chase him all over the grounds, but he was as quiet as could be. I guess he isn’t as wild as we imagined.”

And Sharp Eyes was not. The kindness of the hunter who bought him from the boy was beginning to tell. The silver fox knew that not all men were unkind. Some, such as those in the zoo, and the camera man, were good to wild animals.

For the first few days Sharp Eyes was kept by himself in the small cage into which he had been put when the first one broke. Nor was he allowed to stay near the other animals. He was put by himself in a dark corner of an animal house.

“You’ll be quieter there, and will get to feeling at home,” said one of the park animal keepers. “When you quiet down a bit we’ll put you in with the other foxes, for we have a lot of red and black ones in the park.”

Of course Sharp Eyes did not know just what the man was saying, but it sounded kind, and kind and gentle tones to wild animals mean more than just what the words themselves express.

Sharp Eyes did not like to be left alone, but he could not help himself. He was given plenty to eat and to drink, but he did not think the zoo a nice place. He was too lonesome in it.

Then came a day when he was taken from the traveling cage and placed in a den with other foxes. Here he thought he would have a good time, but when the red, brown and black foxes saw him in his fine silver coat they sort of turned up their noses, and one said:

“Oh, ho! A silver fox! Well, I suppose he’ll be too proud to speak to us common chaps!”

“Oh, no, I won’t,” said Sharp Eyes quickly. “I’m a fox, just like you; and I’ll tell you some of my adventures if you’d like to hear them.”

“There he goes! Proud of his adventures!” sniffed a red fox.

Sharp Eyes wasn’t proud at all, as we know. He only wanted to be friendly, but the other foxes would not be, and kept to themselves, leaving Sharp Eyes on one side of the cage.

One yellow fox tried to bite Sharp Eyes when our friend was eating some meat in the den, but Sharp Eyes soon showed that he had as keen teeth as any of them, and then they were glad to let him alone.

But Sharp Eyes did not have a happy time.

In the first place he was lonesome. He wanted to make friends with the other foxes, but they would not. Many, many times he wished he was back in the woods with Winkle and Twinkle, playing in the bushes, or running in and out of the hollow log.

After a while Sharp Eyes grew so lonesome and unhappy that he did not eat as much as he ought. Instead of keeping fat, and growing nicely, he became thin.

“This will never do,” said one of the park animal men one day, when he stopped to look in the fox den. “That silver chap isn’t doing well at all. What’s the matter with him?”

“I guess he and the other foxes don’t get along well together,” answered the keeper who had charge of feeding the foxes. “The silver one keeps to himself all the while.”

“That isn’t good,” said the animal man, who was a person like the one with the camera, who had first taken a liking to Sharp Eyes. “We must put this silver fox where he will be happier, and will make friends with other animals.”

“I think he’d like to be near Chunky, the happy hippo,” said the keeper.

“What makes you think that?”

“Because when Sharp Eyes first came to our park, and his cage broke, he went in the hippo’s cage and they seemed to like each other.”

“Ha! Well, maybe it would be a good thing to move this silver fox back near the hippo,” said the animal man. “Sharp Eyes is not the same sort as these red or black foxes. His coat of fur is much better. He is a different kind of fox, and if we put him in a cage by himself the people will look at him more. Sharp Eyes ought to like that. It will keep him from getting lonesome and homesick for the woods from which he came.”

So, a few days later, they took Sharp Eyes out of the main fox den, and put him in a cage by himself not far from where Chunky, the happy hippo, lived.

“Ah! I am glad to see you again!” cried the animal with the big mouth which looked like a piano lined with red flannel. “So you have come to see me?”

“Yes. And I didn’t like it with the other foxes,” answered Sharp Eyes. “I am glad they brought me here.”

Soon he and the hippo were talking away to one another at a great rate, though if you had stood in front of their cages you would not have thought that they were doing anything more than grunting or barking. But that was their way of talking.

“You said you were going to tell me a funny story of Tum Tum, the jolly elephant,” said Sharp Eyes to Chunky one day.

“Oh, yes, so I did. Well, it was Mappo, the monkey, who told me. It seems, that, once upon a time, Tum Tum was in the jungle looking for something to eat. He was very hungry, and he was looking for what they call apples in this country though we call them something else in Africa, where the jungle is. Tum Tum was in our jungle once, you know.”

“Yes,” said Sharp Eyes, “I remember. He told me when I met him near the circus grounds.”

“Well, Tum Tum went all over our jungle looking for an apple, but he could not find any. Finally, however, he saw a little monkey pick something that looked like an apple from a tree.

“‘Here, give me that!’ cried Tum Tum. ‘I haven’t had an apple in ever so long. Give me that apple, little monkey, and I’ll give you a ride on my back.’

“‘All right,’ said the monkey. ‘But give me the ride first.’ So Tum Tum gave the monkey a ride all over the jungle, and then he asked for the apple.

“‘Here it is!’ cried the monkey, and he handed something to Tum Tum. Our elephant friend quickly took it in his trunk, and, not stopping to look at it, popped it into his mouth and gave it a big, hard bite. But what do you s’pose it was?” asked Chunky, as he told Sharp Eyes the story.

“I can’t guess,” said the fox.

“It was a hard cocoanut!” laughed the hippo. “And Tum Tum nearly broke his teeth on it. After that he always looked at what he ate before putting it in his mouth.”

“That was a funny story,” said Sharp Eyes. Then he and the hippo talked for a long time, and the fox watched the big animal go into his tank and sink away down under the water.

Days and weeks went by, and many people came to the park to look at the animals. Many of them stopped in front of the cage where the silver fox was. Sharp Eyes was bigger than ever and very beautiful.

But still Sharp Eyes was not happy. He missed the long runs he used to have in the woods, and he missed the fun with his brother and sister, Twinkle and Winkle.

“Sharp Eyes, you are not happy,” said Chunky one day.

“No, I am not,” answered the fox.

“What is the matter?” asked the happy hippo.

“Well, I don’t like it here,” the silver fox replied. “I want to go back to my woods and live in the hollow log.”

“Well, perhaps you are right,” said the hippo, after thinking about it and opening his mouth to catch a loaf of bread his keeper threw in. “Some animals like it here in the zoo, and others do not. For them there is one of two things to do—die or get out. I don’t want to see you die, Sharp Eyes, so I will help you get out.”

“There was a crash, and Sharp Eyes sprang out.”

“How?” asked Sharp Eyes eagerly.

“This way,” said the hippo. “They often let me out in the yard to walk around, for I am quite tame now. The next time I am out I will bump into your cage as if by accident. I am so big and strong, and your cage is so weak, that it will not take a very hard bump to break it. When I break it, and I’ll do it without hurting you, you can run out and go back to your woods.”

“Oh, thank you!” barked Sharp Eyes. “I’ll do that! Please break open my cage and let me out as soon as you can.”

And Chunky did. A few days later, when he was in the yard back of his cage, wandering about and eating hay, he strolled over to the cage of the fox.

“Watch out now, Sharp Eyes,” said the hippo. “I am going to bump against you. Good-bye, when you get out. Think of me sometimes and give my love to Tum Tum, Don or any of my friends you see.”

“I will,” said the fox.

The next minute the big hippo bumped sharply against the fox cage. There was a crash, a splintering of wood, and Sharp Eyes sprang out. The silver fox was running away.

CHAPTER XII SHARP EYES GETS HOME

“How good it is to be free!” thought Sharp Eyes, the silver fox, as he bounded out of the broken cage and ran quickly to hide under some bushes that grew near the place in the zoölogical park where Chunky, the happy hippo, lived. “How good it is to be free! Good-bye, Chunky!” he called softly to his friend, from where he was hidden under the bush. “Good-bye! I wish you were coming with me.”

“No, thank you,” said the hippo. “I am better off in the park. I need to be warm, for I come from Jungle Land. As for you, with your warm coat of silver fur, you do not mind winter and snow. Good-bye and good luck to you!”

Then the hippo went to take a swim in the pool of his cage, and Sharp Eyes, remembering the hiding tricks his father and mother had taught him when he lived in the woods, made ready to get as far away as he could.

The silver fox kept very quiet under the bush, waiting to see what would happen. Soon, he knew, the animal keepers would find out he was gone, and they would hunt for him. Sharp Eyes did not want them to find him.

“I must creep away as carefully as if I was hunting a chicken at the farm near the North Woods where I used to live,” said Sharp Eyes to himself. “But no more chickens for me, unless I can be sure there is no trap near by! I must be very careful!”

Carefully and slyly he looked around. He saw no one, and he thought it would be a good thing to run a little farther away from the park. He was too close to his broken cage.

Trailing his big, bushy tail along behind him, Sharp Eyes crept out from under the bush and ran across the path. A little distance farther on were some trees, and the silver fox hoped they would prove to be a wood in which he might hide.

But just as he was going in among these trees (which were not a wood, but only a part of the park) one of the keepers saw him.

“Oh, the silver fox is out of his cage!” cried this man. “We must get the silver fox!”

He ran toward Sharp Eyes, and so did some other men who heard the cry. If they had had some dogs to help them they might have caught the fox. But Sharp Eyes could run faster than the fastest man, and he was in among the farthest trees before the keepers had reached the first ones.

“Now I must hide,” said Sharp Eyes to himself. “If I can find a hollow log I’ll crawl in that.”

But the woods of the park were not like those of the north, where the fox had lived. There were no fallen trees or hollow logs.

Sharp Eyes heard the men running after him and shouting. They were getting nearer and nearer. He must find some place to hide. He looked all about him, and, at last, saw a little hollow place, filled with dried leaves, beneath the roots of a tree.

Quickly scraping the ground away with his fore paws, the silver fox made the hole a little larger. Then he crawled down into it, and managed to scatter some leaves about on top of the hole, so that it did not show very plainly.

Sharp Eyes was hidden in this hole when the men from the park rushed into the patch of woods.

“Do you see that fox?” asked one man.

“No, he must have run right on,” answered another.

Even while they said this the men stood near the hole in which Sharp Eyes was hidden. But they could not see him on account of the leaves he had brushed over himself. Dogs could have smelled the fox, but the noses of the men were not keen enough for this. Nor were they hunters or trappers, who might have seen the marks left by Sharp Eyes’ feet in the soft dirt.

So the animal keepers passed right on, leaving the silver fox in the hole. And then his heart stopped beating so fast, for he felt that he was safe, at least for a time, and might, at last, get far, far away.

“I’ll wait a bit, until the men get out of the woods,” thought the silver fox. “Then I’ll run as far as I can. But I guess I’ll wait until after dark. Then they can’t see me so plainly.”

Sharp Eyes was not hungry, for he had been well fed in the zoo. But he was thirsty, and he dared not go out for a drink. How he wished he could lap up some water from the pool in which Chunky, the happy hippo, swam. But that could not be done.

So Sharp Eyes remained hidden under the roots of the tree. The animal keepers hunted all over the woods, but could not find the silver fox. They came back to his broken cage, and the head keeper said:

“Well, it is too bad that silver fox got away, for he was a beautiful animal, and the boys and the girls, and their fathers and mothers, liked to look at him. But maybe he will be happier if he gets back to his own woods. I wonder how he could break out of his cage?”

The man did not know the trick Chunky had played, and you may be sure the happy hippo did not tell. He missed Sharp Eyes, Chunky did, but there were other animals in the zoo for the hippo to talk to.

“Though I liked to talk to that fox about Tum Tum and our other friends,” said Chunky to himself. “However, maybe Sharp Eyes is better off out of his cage. I hope so.”

The silver fox waited until night before coming out of his hiding place. Even then he looked around very carefully to make sure there was no danger. Foxes can see in the dark almost as well as cats, and our friend had eyes that were brighter and better than those of most foxes.

“I guess no one is around now to catch me,” thought the silver fox to himself, as he came out of the hole. “I don’t smell any dogs to chase me. Oh, how good it is to be free, and not shut up in a cage! Now I am going back to the North Woods—to my father and mother, and to Twinkle and Winkle!”

Sharp Eyes did not know how far it was to the North Woods where he used to live. Perhaps it was just as well he did not, or he might never have tried to go there. As it was, he set off in the dark.

No one visited the zoo after dark, and even the watchmen and animal keepers went to bed. So did the animals, except maybe the elephants, and they sleep standing up. Thus no one saw Sharp Eyes as he ran through the park in the darkness of the night. From tree to bush and from bush to tree he ran until he came to a stone wall. This was one end of the park, and, to get out, the fox had to jump over this wall.

But that was easy for him. Often had he jumped over high bushes, fallen trees in the woods, or fences around a farm, when he wanted to get a fat chicken.

So, with a bound and a leap, Sharp Eyes went over the wall, and, to his surprise, he found himself in a queer place. It was a very light place and noisy. Big yellow things, like railroad cars were running up and down. They were the trolleys, though the fox did not know that. Then too, he saw black things, like big bugs, making no noise with their wheels, but puffing white smoke out of the back, also running up and down, in and out among the yellow things. These were automobiles.

And Sharp Eyes also saw many people in the street, for it was into a city street he had leaped after jumping over the park wall.

For a few seconds Sharp Eyes stood very still, after landing in the street. He crouched back against the stone wall, and then he heard a sudden shout.

“Oh, look what a beautiful silver dog!” cried a lady. Of course Sharp Eyes did not know just what she said, but that was it.

“A dog? That isn’t a dog!” said a man with the lady. “That’s a silver fox, and it must have gotten away from the zoo. I wonder if it’s tame enough for me to catch.”

“Oh, don’t! He might bite you!” said the lady. But the man ran toward the fox. However, Sharp Eyes did not wait for the man to come very close. With a little bark, the silver fox bounded to one side and ran along the street.

By this time several other men and boys had seen him, and they ran after him, some thinking he was a dog. The heart of Sharp Eyes beat very fast, and he hardly knew what to do. At last he saw a dark place, which he thought was a cave in which he might hide—it was really underneath the high front steps of a house on the street—and the silver fox crawled back into the darkest corner.

He was delighted when the men and boys ran past his new hiding place, for that told him he had not been seen.

“I hope they don’t get me,” thought the silver fox.

And the men and boys did not. They knew nothing about hunting foxes, even in the streets of a big city and they soon gave up the chase. Sharp Eyes stayed under the steps in the darkness until the streets grew quiet. Late at night, or, rather, very early in the morning, the trolley cars and automobiles stopped running. The streets had no one in them. And then it was that the fox came quietly out and ran along. He did not know just where he was going. He wanted to get to the country and to the woods. He wanted to get back home.

On and on he ran, and if any one in the city saw him in those early hours of the morning, they must have thought him a stray dog, for they did not chase him.

The silver fox was tired and hungry. He managed to find a bit of meat in an ash box, and once he came to a fountain where horses were watered, and he got a drink. Then he felt better.

It would take another book, almost as large as this, to tell all the adventures of Sharp Eyes as he ran through the city and at last got to the country where there were some woods.

At times boys and men saw him and chased him, and, more than once, dogs ran after him, barking. But Sharp Eyes was a smart fox. He had the smartness of a wild animal and the cunning of a partly tamed one. So he knew how to hide and how to get away.

On and on he traveled. It was quite different from being carried in a cage by the hunter or riding in the railroad train. It was hard work. The feet of Sharp Eyes became sore, especially the one which had been hurt in the trap.

Often the silver fox was hungry and thirsty, but he kept on and on. He did not go near cities but kept to the country and the woods. Often he would take a chicken or a duck from a farm at night. He did not know it was wrong, for he had to live, and this was the only way he had of getting food.

On and on he went. Sometimes he had to wade across brooks, and more than once he swam rivers. All the while he was looking for his old home in the North Woods, not knowing how far away it was. When he met any animals who seemed kind—horses, dogs or cats—Sharp Eyes would ask them:

“Do you know where my hollow-log home is? Or do you know my father or mother, or my brother Twinkle or my sister Winkle?”

“No,” would be the answer. “We don’t know.”

“Then I must go on farther,” said Sharp Eyes.

By this time his silver coat was tattered and tangled. In it were burrs and briars. The feet of the silver fox were cut and sore. But still he kept on.

Once a hunter shot at him, hoping to get the silver fur, but the bullet whistled over Sharp Eyes’ back. Once a savage dog chased him, and he had to run very fast, turning many ways, and finally waded a long distance in a brook before the dog lost the scent and gave up.

“Oh dear!” thought Sharp Eyes. “I wonder if I shall ever get home again!”

He was very tired, but he would not give up. One evening, after a day of hard travel, the silver fox felt that he could go no farther. He saw a stream of water just ahead of him, and slowly he limped to it to get a drink.

As he was lapping up the cool drops he heard behind him a voice he seemed to know. It was animal talk, and some one said:

“Oh, Mother! Look! There is a strange fox!”

“Yes, so it is,” another voice answered. “Well, don’t bother him. He looks tired and weary. Let him drink, and, when he is rested, we can give him some of the chicken you and Twinkle caught to-day.”

“What’s that—Twinkle?” cried Sharp Eyes, stopping his drinking and turning quickly around. “Who is Twinkle?” he asked in fox talk.

“That is the name of my brother,” said the smaller of the two foxes, who were near a hole in the bank of the stream. “I am Winkle.”

“Then you must be my sister!” cried Sharp Eyes.

“Your sister!” exclaimed the other fox. “Why—why—”

But suddenly the larger fox sprang forward. With eager eyes she looked at the silver animal.

“Sharp Eyes! Sharp Eyes!” she cried, “don’t you know me? I am your mother! Oh, how glad I am to have you back!” and she rubbed her cold nose against his and kissed him with her tongue.

“Sharp Eyes! Who is talking of Sharp Eyes?” asked another fox, coming to the opening of the hole in the side of the stream-bank. “Sharp Eyes has been gone a long time.”

“But he is back now!” cried the mother fox. “See, here he is! He has grown to be a big fox, and his silver coat is all ragged and torn, but he is our Sharp Eyes just the same.”

“‘Sharp Eyes!’ she cried, ‘don’t you know me?’”

The other big fox came down to the edge of the stream. He looked carefully at the silver fox. So did a smaller animal, and to him Sharp Eyes said:

“Don’t you know me, brother Twinkle?”

“Why, it is Sharp Eyes!” cried the other. “I can tell him by the scar on his foot where he was caught in the trap.”

“Yes, I am Sharp Eyes,” said the silver fox. “And, oh, how glad I am to get back home again! I am so glad to see you—Father and Mother—and you, Twinkle and Winkle! I thought I should never get to the North Woods again.”

“These are not the North Woods,” said the father fox. “Those woods are far, far away. We left them long ago—soon after you were missing. We came to these woods to live. How did you find us and where have you been?”

“I have been in many places,” answered the silver fox, “and I have had many adventures. I don’t know how I happened to find you. I guess it was just an accident, such as Chunky, the happy hippo, said he would make believe happened to my cage when he leaned against it and set me free. But at last I am home again!”

“Yes,” said his mother, “in our new home. Are you hungry, Sharp Eyes?”

“Am I hungry?” he cried. “Well, I should say I am!”

“I’ll bring you some of the chicken that Brother Twinkle and I caught to-day,” said Winkle. “We are good hunters now, Sharp Eyes.”

“Yes, indeed they are good hunters,” said Mr. Fox. “Well, Sharp Eyes, I guess you have had enough of adventures, haven’t you?”

“Indeed I have!” answered the silver fox, as he ate some chicken in the new cave-house. “I am never going away again.”

“Tell us your adventures,” said Twinkle, when his brother had rested in the cave.

“They were so many it will take me quite a while,” answered the silver fox. “I met many animal friends, and they had their adventures put into books. Maybe that will happen to me.”

And it did, and here’s the very book, as you can see for yourself. And now, as we have brought these adventures of Sharp Eyes to an end, we will say good-bye to him.

THE END

STORIES FOR CHILDREN

(From four to nine years old)

THE KNEETIME ANIMAL STORIES

BY RICHARD BARNUM

In all nursery literature animals have played a conspicuous part; and the reason is obvious for nothing entertains a child more than the antics of an animal. These stories abound in amusing incidents such as children adore and the characters are so full of life, so appealing to a child’s imagination, that none will be satisfied until they have met all of their favorites—Squinty, Slicko, Mappo, Tum Tum, etc.

Cloth, Large 12mo., Illustrated, Per vol. 50 cents

For sale at all bookstores or sent (postage paid) on receipt of price by the publishers.

BARSE & HOPKINS
Publishers            28 West 23rd Street            New York