In their fighting, the determined little warriors drew nearer the hiding-place of the boys. Ed quietly brought forth the camera and made it ready, resolved to have a picture if they came within focusing range.
Suddenly something red flashed from a group of little pines. Before the lads realized what had happened, a big red fox was disappearing with one of the recent combatants in his jaws. The survivor thundered away into the forest, chattering with fright. The birds had afforded him easy prey, for, engaged as they were with each other, they had not detected his stealthy approach until the sly red fellow was upon them.
“Well, what do you think of that?” asked George, sitting up with a surprised look on his face.
“Beats anything I ever heard of,” declared Ed, folding the camera.
“Say, Ed, which one did he get?”
“The one that came looking for trouble, I think.”
“That’s what I thought. I’m sorry he got either, but I’m glad it was the other that got away. He seemed so blamed happy and contented drumming away on his old log that I’d just hate to think of anything like that happening to him.”
“So would I,” said Ed, rising from the ground.
The boys walked away solemnly in the direction taken by the red marauder. They stooped and picked up several mottled-brown feathers, mute evidences of the tragedy just witnessed. For some distance they made their way in silence, their minds occupied with the fate of the luckless grouse.
Then they heard the hoarse bark of a fox and halted at once. They could hear him trotting over the fallen leaves within a few feet of them. Finally they saw him, and, strange enough, he did not seem inclined to take advantage of the available shelter, but rather appeared to court their attention.