. I thrust my head
into the ledge's mouth, and in the dim light watched the dog. He
progressed slowly and cautiously till only his bleeding heels were
visible. Here some obstacle impeded him a few moments, when he
entirely disappeared and was presently face to face with the fox and
engaged in mortal combat with him. It is a fierce encounter there
beneath the rocks, the fox silent, the dog very vociferous. But
after a time the superior weight and strength of the latter prevails
and the fox is brought to light nearly dead. Reynard winks and eyes
me suspiciously, as I stroke his head and praise his heroic defense;
but the hunter quickly and mercifully puts an end to his fast-ebbing
life. His canine teeth seem unusually large and formidable, and the
dog bears the marks of them in many deep gashes upon his face and
nose. His pelt is quickly stripped off, revealing his lean, sinewy
form.

The fox was not as poor in flesh as I expected to see him, though
I'll warrant he had tasted very little food for days, perhaps for
weeks. How his great activity and endurance can be kept up, on the
spare diet he must of necessity be confined to, is a mystery. Snow,
snow everywhere, for weeks and for months, and intense cold, and no
henroost accessible, and no carcass of sheep or pig in the
neighborhood! The hunter, tramping miles and leagues through his
haunts, rarely sees any sign of his having caught anything. Rarely,
though, in the course of many winters, he may have seen evidence of
his having surprised a rabbit or a partridge in the woods. He no
doubt at this season lives largely upon the memory (or the fat) of
the many good dinners he had in the plentiful summer and fall.

As we crossed the mountain on our return, we saw at one point
blood-stains upon the snow, and as the fox-tracks were very thick
on and about it, we concluded that a couple of males had had an
encounter there, and a pretty sharp one. Reynard goes a-wooing in
February, and it is to be presumed that, like other dogs, he is a
jealous lover. A crow had alighted and examined the blood-stains,
and now, if he will look a little farther along, upon a flat rock he
will find the flesh he was looking for. Our hound's nose was so
blunted now, speaking without metaphor, that he would not look at
another trail, but hurried home to rest upon his laurels.

III

PHASES OF FARM LIFE

I have thought that a good test of civilization, perhaps one of the
best, is country l