In the Catskills | Page 5

carriage.
But, pursued by the hound on a wet, thawy day, it often becomes so

heavy and bedraggled as to prove a serious inconvenience, and compels
him to take refuge in his den. He is very loath to do this; both his pride
and the traditions of his race stimulate him to run it out, and win by fair
superiority of wind and speed; and only a wound or a heavy and
moppish tail will drive him to avoid the issue in this manner.
To learn his surpassing shrewdness and cunning, attempt to take him
with a trap. Rogue that he is, he always suspects some trick, and one
must be more of a fox than he is himself to overreach him. At first sight
it would appear easy enough. With apparent indifference he crosses
your path, or walks in your footsteps in the field, or travels along the
beaten highway, or lingers in the vicinity of stacks and remote barns.
Carry the carcass of a pig, or a fowl, or a dog, to a distant field in
midwinter, and in a few nights his tracks cover the snow about it.
The inexperienced country youth, misled by this seeming carelessness
of Reynard, suddenly conceives a project to enrich himself with fur,
and wonders that the idea has not occurred to him before, and to others.
I knew a youthful yeoman of this kind, who imagined he had found a
mine of wealth on discovering on a remote side-hill, between two
woods, a dead porker, upon which it appeared all the foxes of the
neighborhood had nightly banqueted. The clouds were burdened with
snow; and as the first flakes commenced to eddy down, he set out, trap
and broom in hand, already counting over in imagination the silver
quarters he would receive for his first fox-skin. With the utmost care,
and with a palpitating heart, he removed enough of the trodden snow to
allow the trap to sink below the surface. Then, carefully sifting the light
element over it and sweeping his tracks full, he quickly withdrew,
laughing exultingly over the little surprise he had prepared for the
cunning rogue. The elements conspired to aid him, and the falling snow
rapidly obliterated all vestiges of his work. The next morning at dawn
he was on his way to bring in his fur. The snow had done its work
effectually, and, he believed, had kept his secret well. Arrived in sight
of the locality, he strained his vision to make out his prize lodged
against the fence at the foot of the hill. Approaching nearer, the surface
was unbroken, and doubt usurped the place of certainty in his mind. A
slight mound marked the site of the porker, but there was no footprint

near it. Looking up the hill, he saw where Reynard had walked
leisurely down toward his wonted bacon till within a few yards of it,
when he had wheeled, and with prodigious strides disappeared in the
woods. The young trapper saw at a glance what a comment this was
upon his skill in the art, and, indignantly exhuming the iron, he walked
home with it, the stream of silver quarters suddenly setting in another
direction.
The successful trapper commences in the fall, or before the first deep
snow. In a field not too remote, with an old axe he cuts a small place,
say ten inches by fourteen, in the frozen ground, and removes the earth
to the depth of three or four inches, then fills the cavity with dry ashes,
in which are placed bits of roasted cheese. Reynard is very suspicious
at first, and gives the place a wide berth. It looks like design, and he
will see how the thing behaves before he approaches too near. But the
cheese is savory and the cold severe. He ventures a little closer every
night, until he can reach and pick a piece from the surface. Emboldened
by success, like other mortals, he presently digs freely among the ashes,
and, finding a fresh supply of the delectable morsels every night, is
soon thrown off his guard and his suspicions quite lulled. After a week
of baiting in this manner, and on the eve of a light fall of snow, the
trapper carefully conceals his trap in the bed, first smoking it
thoroughly with hemlock boughs to kill or neutralize the smell of the
iron. If the weather favors and the proper precautions have been taken,
he may succeed, though the chances are still greatly against him.
Reynard is usually caught very lightly, seldom more than the ends of
his toes being between the jaws. He sometimes works so cautiously as
to spring the trap without injury even to his toes, or may remove the
cheese night after night without even springing