During this manipulation the fox made no attempt to struggle, simply crouching down and watching the boy with its haunting eyes. And even when the jaws of the trap relaxed it did not bound away as Larry had expected, but slipped out of sight stealthily and with no apparent haste, not yet fully assured of its unexpected good fortune.
The boy watched the animal disappear with mingled emotions of shame and satisfaction. But when it was out of sight he drew a long breath, and went back to camp in a sober mood.
That night at supper Martin was unusually talkative. In about a week, he said, they should start for home if the fine weather continued, and the thought of it put him in a happy frame of mind. But Larry ate his supper in silence, trying to excuse himself for his deception, and his “chicken-heartedness” in freeing the fox.
Martin, who was watching him out of the corners of his eyes, suddenly surprised him by stopping in the middle of a story to ask:
“Larry, what happened out in the woods to-day that you are so ashamed of?”
The boy replied evasively at first, but the old hunter shook his head incredulously.
“See here, Martin,” Larry said at last, “what would you do if you happened to come along to a marten trap and found a silver fox there—not a dead fox, you know, and not one that snarled and snapped and tried to bite you. But a fox that had fought to get loose until he couldn’t fight any more, but just stood there and looked you straight in the eye even when you raised a club to kill him, and seemed to say to you:
“‘That’s right, take your club and kill me, I can’t get out of your way now. I’m only a poor little fox, anyway, while you are a big, brave boy, with guns and dogs and traps, and you needn’t even come near enough so that I can bite you. You have been trying to kill me all winter, just because some woman will give you a thousand dollars for the fur I wear to keep warm in, and now you’ve got your chance to do it.’—What would you do, Martin, if a fox looked at you and talked to you with his eyes like that?”
“What would I do, Larry?” the old man repeated, looking at the roof and puffing slowly at his pipe. “Why, I’d say, ‘Martin, here’s your chance to make a thousand dollars mighty easy. I’ll just hit him a rap on the head, and take him home and skin him.’ That’s what I’d say, Larry. But what I’d do when I saw the little fellow’s big brown eyes asking me to let him go home to his family—what I’d do, probably, would be to look all around to make sure that no one was looking to see what a coward I am in my heart, and then I’d spring the trap and turn the little rascal loose.”
With a bound Larry was out of his chair.