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 bit of hard luck on the part of Red Fox that any good hunter is liable to experience. So it happened that when Red Fox started to back track to his lair on the mountainside, he met the pack in full cry.

He at once knew what this meant. He had watched too many fox hunts from his lookout at the mountain-top not to understand. He knew full well that along the road between himself and the mountain and in all the likely runways men were posted with their deadly thunder-sticks. Dogs he did not much fear, but the men with these deadly weapons were different. He knew if he was to keep his hide that day he must not try to double back to the mountain at that stage of the game. Instead, he must lead the pack far across the country away from the mountain. Then the men would follow, hoping to get a shot at him on some of the crossroads. Hours later, it might be safe for him to try to double back to the mountain.

So Red Fox turned reluctantly, for he hated the idea of this long, hard chase and led the