“What do you want of guns?”
“Why, to shoot the gol darn fox with, of course!”
“But what do you want to shoot him for?”
“Hey!” gasped the astonished Vermonter. “Haow be yeou goin’ to hunt him if yeou don’t shoot him?”
“Why, we hunt foxes on horses, and let the dogs run them down.”
“An’ don’t do nary bit of shootin’?”
“No.”
“Wal, that’s what I call a mighty slim sort of a hunt,” declared Gallup, in disgust. “Yeou oughter see Win Page hunt foxes daown hum. Give that feller one dorg an’ a good gun, and he’ll go out ’most any mornin’ an’ gather in two or three of the critters afore breakfast. He keeps the door of his barn all nailed over with fox skins, an’ skunk skins, an’ muskrats, an’ he kin set araound the grocery store an’ tell huntin’ stories fer a week at a time ’thout stoppin’ to eat ur ketch his breath.”
“It is evident that Mr. Page hunts foxes in a different way and for a different purpose than we do,” smiled Kenneth.
Then Frank briefly explained to Ephraim the style of hunting foxes on horseback for sport, but Gallup did not seem to think there could be much sport in it that way.