Boxy was partly right. As the fox reached the bottom of the opening he spied Boxy, and, feeling ugly, he did not attempt to get away, but sprang directly for Boxy’s face.
It was a thrilling moment, for, though small, a fox is exceedingly savage when aroused, and with his long, sharp teeth can do serious damage.
Boxy squirmed to one side, and the animal landed on his shoulder. He buried his teeth into the boy’s overcoat, snapping and snarling as he did so.
Then a loud report rang out, as Harry fired. He was not over three yards away, and his aim was true. The fox received the greater part of the shot in his side, and, with a backward leap he tumbled over dead.
It was several seconds before Boxy managed to scramble to his feet. He was as white as a ghost, and trembling in every limb.
“Is he—he dead?” he gasped, as he surveyed the fox from a slight distance.
“I guess he is, but there is nothing like making sure, he is such a sly creature,” responded Harry, and, going up, he struck the head of the animal a resounding blow with the butt of his gun. “Yes, he’s dead enough.”
“It was lucky you hit him,” went on Boxy, gratefully. “If you hadn’t he would have chewed me up.”
“He was a tough customer, and no mistake,” rejoined Harry. “See what a splendid white tail!”
“He’s a pretty big one. Will you take him along as he is?”