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 other sounds, came the long shriek that the thunderer made when crossing the trails of men, and Redcoat plainly saw in the distance the trail of smoke that the thunderer always left in passing.

Did the red fox think this all out carefully, the time it would take him to reach the bridge and cross, and the time it would take the thunderer to reach it and the pack also, or rather was it just an intuition, a daring chance that he took, just as he had gambled with life so many times before? One look back at the pack decided Redcoat and he raced for the railroad bridge with a great burst of speed. Foot passengers crossing on the other bridge stopped and watched excitedly to see the beautiful fox trotting rapidly over the bridge, and they were still more amazed when the pack, a dozen strong, reached the end of the bridge and followed after the intrepid fox. Redcoat himself was two-thirds of the way across and the pack a third of the way across when the train reached the bridge. Then there was a great tooting of the whistle