The Fox and the Hound by Daniel P. Mannix

longer keep the faraway objects in view. So he traveled from marker to marker, such as a special gateway, a stump, a knoll, a certain tree, or a large stone, passing close to his marker yet not touching it. When he found a trail, a sheep path, or a wagon track, he followed that for convenience. As time went on, his route became routine and he seldom departed from it. His range was about a square mile, and although when hunting was poor he was forced to extend it, he always left the known territory with reluctance.
    In running his route, he knew from experience exactly where all the likely game spots were, and carefully checked them. When he drew a blank and was forced to go into strange country, he ran about aimlessly, yet knowing enough to check each thicket, brush pile, or snowdrift around the base of a tree, as he had learned game often lay up in these places. In the woods he never passed a fallen tree without running along it or a stump without jumping on top. He did this partly so he could look around, but also because he liked climbing on objects simply for the fun of it.
    Mice were his staple. Even with snow on the ground, he could scent a mouse tunnel, and would plunge his long nose into the snow to check. At first he dug up the tunnels, hoping to find the mice, but he soon found this was a waste of time. He could hear mice running through the tunnels several feet away, and he would give a great bound, land with his forefeet pressing down the tunnel on either side of the quarry, and bite between his paws blindly. Sometimes he got only a mouthful of leaves or snow, but often he got a mouse. Not only could he hear very faint sounds a surprising distance; he could also pinpoint the exact location of a nearby sound in an instant, but if a sound came from far away, he had considerable trouble locating the source, and was more inclined to depend on his nose than on his ears in such cases, by swinging downward to smell what was making the disturbance.
    Rabbits were his favorite quarry. Mice he could swallow at a gulp, and there was really no great fun in capturing them. Rabbits were bigger, smarter, and gave him a real run. He liked the flesh better, and there was more of it. One rabbit would last him two or three days, yet he hunted them for the sport quite as much as for food.
    One of his favorite rabbit grounds was an orchard where the rabbits came to strip the young trees when there was snow on the ground and other herbage was covered. Tod had first gone to the orchard looking for half-frozen windfalls, and discovered the rabbits by accident. Once he was aware of their presence, he took to circling the orchard first to get downwind and then coming in cautiously, often crawling catlike on his belly. On a straightaway the rabbits could outrun him; however, they usually tried to dodge around the trees, and Tod could turn faster than they could. The rabbits had burrows along the edge of the orchard, and this was another advantage for Tod. When a rabbit went down a hole, he had to hesitate for a split second at the mouth to get his way clear, and in this second Tod could often grab him. It was safer for a rabbit to plunge into a brier patch, for he could hit the brambles at any angle.
    One afternoon when Tod was loping along his usual path that paralleled a fence, he saw cattle in the field, Tod stopped short to stare at them. The cattle had been in the barn most of the winter, and this was as the first time he had seen them. Curious as ever, Tod trotted over to investigate. The cons raised their heads to look at him. Tod, uncertain of his reception, ran from side to side, trying to make them panic as he had done the sheep. Instead, two heifers charged him. Their attack was so unexpected, Tod was nearly caught, and only by rapid clodging was he
    able to escape. Even so, he returned again, fascinated by the huge creatures. He soon found that by moving slowly and keeping close to the ground he could pass right through the herd