The Fox and the Hound by Daniel P. Mannix Page B

rushed him against the fence. Tod, sitting up to see better, watched the dog go flying into the air, yelping with pain and fright. Another cow caught the dog as he tried desperately to escape along the fence line. He finally managed to get away, and departed crying with pain while Tod bounded in the air to watch, dancing with delight and grinning until his jaws nearly met at the back of his neck. He was perfectly safe, for the cattle were watching the dog. Tod was so proud of himself and in such ecstasy at the success of his trick that he deliberately went looking for dogs thereafter to lure them into the field. He kept it up until every farm dog in the neighborhood learned to avoid the herd, to Tod's great disappointment.
    Tod followed his beat with such regularity a man could almost have set a watch by observing when the fox passed a certain point. Part of his run was along an embankment where a train ran twice a day. Tod had originally climbed the embankment because it was high and gave him a better view. He soon learned to trot along one of the rails, for the cinders hurt his pads, and he would run the rail for a few hundred yards before turning off to take a footpath through a juniper tangle that, in turn, led him to a culvert under the highway and thence up a hill to the fallen pine under which he usually denned for the day. He always reached the embankment an hour before dawn, but one morning he was late, having been delayed by an opossum that played dead so successfully that even Tod with his educated eyes and nose had been fooled. As he trotted along the rail shortly after sunup, he heard the whistle of an oncoming train.
            Tod paid no attention to the sound, and kept on. He felt the rail vibrating under his pads, and stopped to stare down at it in wonder. Then he heard the train itself and, looking over his shoulder, saw the monster racing down on him.
    Tod ran for his life along the rail, but the train was faster, It never occurred to Tod to leave the rail until he came to his familiar turning-off place at the juniper thicket. The cowcatcher was almost touching his brush when he reached the place and made a hysterical hound off the embankment. flitting the ground with all four feet, he continued racing along the path, positive that the train was after him. Gradually he realized the monster was still on the embankment, rushing by. Tod stopped and stood watching it, gasping for breath. A week or so later, the fox was again delayed and again heard the whistle and felt the vibration while running the rail. This time he was prepared. He started running instantly and reached the jump-off spot in plenty of time. After a few more such experiences, he learned that the monster always continued in a straight line, not unlike the cattle when they charged, and therefore could be easily dodged. He even made a game of the business - as he slid of everything - and would deliberately jump on a rail and race ahead of the engine, jumping off whenever it got dangerously close.
    Autumn was a great time for Tod. Food was plentiful, and there was enough of a snap in the air to give him added vigor. He was bored, for hunting was easy and he had no friends. He left his usual range and roamed field with memories of the vixen in his head. On one of these trips he passed a cabin on the slope of a hill, and smelled dogs.
            It was just before dawn, and Tod hesitated. Curiously he circled the hill and then crept closer. To see what would happen, he gave an experimental bark. Instantly dogs burst from their barrel kennels, screaming with rage. Tod turned to run and then saw the dogs were chained. He had been chained himself, and understood the situation perfectly. He loped off, grinning to himself at the animals’ rage.
    A few nights biter, he passed the same spot. This time Tod slunk over to the nearest barrel, taking care to stop just outside the circle of hard-packed earth that showed the limits of the captive's