id of the 'daft' fox in any way they could. But the snow did
not come, and the red-haired gentleman lived his life. Notwithstanding
his madness, he did not lack method. He never came two successive nights
to the same farm. He never ate where he killed, and he never left a
track that betrayed his re-treat. He usually finished up his night's
trail on the turf, or on a public highway.

Once I saw him. I was walking to Monsaldale from Bakewell late one night
during a heavy storm, and as I turned the corner of Stead's sheep-fold
there was a vivid flash of lightning. By its light, there was fixed on
my retina a picture that made me start. Sitting on his haunches by the
roadside, twenty yards away, was a very large fox gazing at me with
malignant eyes, and licking his muzzle in a suggestive manner. All
this I saw, but no more, and might have forgotten it, or thought myself
mistaken, but the next morning, in that very fold, were found the bodies
of twenty-three lambs and sheep, and the unmistakable signs that brought
home the crime to the well-known marauder.

There was only one man who escaped, and that was Dorley. This was the
more remarkable because he lived in the centre of the region raided, and
within one mile of the Devil's Hole. Faithful Wully proved himself worth
all the dogs in the neighborhood. Night after night he brought in the
sheep, and never one was missing. The Mad Fox might prowl about the
Dorley homestead if he wished, but Wully, shrewd, brave, active Wully
was more than a match for him, and not only saved his master's flock,
but himself escaped with a whole skin. Everyone entertained a profound
respect for him, and he might have been a popular pet but for his temper
which, never genial, became more and more crabbed. He seemed to like
Dorley, and Huldah, Dorley's eldest daughter, a shrewd, handsome, young
woman, who, in the capacity of general manager of the house, was Wully's
special guardian. The other members of Doricy's family Wully learned to
tolerate, but the rest of the world, men and dogs, he seemed to hate.

His uncanny disposition was well shown in the last meeting I had with
him. I was walking on a pathway across the moor behind Dorley's house.
Wully was lying on the doorstep. As I drew near he arose, and without
appearing to see me trotted toward my pathway and placed himself across
it about ten yards ahead of me. There he stood silently and intently
regarding the distant moor, his slightly brist