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 peered through the bushes. The sounds he had heard were made by a logging team. In fact a load of logs was passing in the road not thirty feet away. As the end of the load passed by and Redcoat heard the cry of the pack coming so desperately near, a plan which was like a flash of hope in his consciousness came into the quick wits of the red fox. If he could only break the trail. If he could get back the distance he had lost. He could see his beloved mountain not over a mile away.

The end of the load was passing and Redcoat noted that the bottom log on the load stuck out about three feet further than the rest of the load. The quick witted fox saw his chance and took it. As the load passed, he trotted quickly forward and sprang lightly on the projecting log and flattened himself down upon it. His red coat was quite the color of the reddish brown bark of the logs and he blended nicely with the load and was so low down the driver could not see him. The team moved slowly along the road, while the cries of the hounds came