hen estimating the
distance as best he could, a difficult matter across the snow, he set
his sights accordingly, cocked the rifle and held it in readiness. All
the time he kept whispering to himself, "Nothin' but a rabbit. Nothin'
to git excited about. Youse has got a dead cinch. Youse can't miss."
Somehow this trying to think of the fox as a rabbit helped wonderfully.
Anybody could hit a rabbit.

The fox was trotting now with his nose to the snow. Sparrer was
conscious of a hope so great that it was almost a prayer that the animal
would stop when he reached the critical spot. It would be a hard enough
shot at a motionless mark, but to hit a mark moving as swiftly as the
fox was now going was more than he dared even dream of doing. The trot
broke into a lope. Sparrer raised the rifle and sighted through the
opening. It seemed to him that that swiftly moving form crossed the
opening in one leap, a blur of black across his sights. Slowly he
lowered his rifle. His chance was gone.

In the reaction that followed he realized how high his hopes had been.
It seemed as if Fortune had but played with him, had put the prize
almost within his grasp and then as he reached for it had snatched it
away to tease and mock him. He could have cried with vexation and
disappointment had he been of the weeping kind. As it was he swallowed a
lump in his throat and leaned forward to peer through the brush for one
last glimpse of the royal animal.

At the end of the dam the fox stopped. Sparrer could just make him out
through the tangled screen of brush. For a moment he stood motionless.
It seemed to the boy like adding insult to injury. Then with a long
graceful leap he landed on the snow of the swamp. A sudden hope caused
Sparrer to instinctively tighten his grip on the rifle and catch his
breath. Perhaps the fox would come his way! If he should, well, he would
at least find a true Scout--he would be prepared.

But the fox did not turn in his direction. Instead he kept straight on
into the swamp as if he intended to cross it to the high land which made
up to the hills beyond. Sparrer caught occasional glimpses of him
through the trees. He crossed the trail by which Sparrer had come in,
sniffed at it, looked up in Sparrer's direction suspiciously, it seemed
to him, sniffed again and then trotted on as if the matter were of no
present interest. The dry snow had not held the scent sufficiently to
cause alarm.

Instead of continuing in a di