“There he is!” Blake was heard to cry.
“Oh—oh, is he—is he—dead?” faltered Mrs. Bonnell.
“He seems just to be having a fit,” answered Phil with a chuckle.
The girls heard a commotion amid the dead leaves.
“That ammonia was very strong,” murmured Alice.
“Behold your victim!” cried Jack, parting the tent flaps, that had been allowed to fall back after the fumes had been somewhat blown away. “Behold your victim!” and by the tail, he held up to view a small fox, the hapless animal appearing to be in a sort of fit or stupor.
“Take him away! Take him away!” screamed Alice. “He’ll bite!”
“Not for some time,” replied Jack grimly. “You did for him good and proper. Some of that liquid ammonia must have gotten on him, Mrs. Bonnell.”
“Oh!” she exclaimed. “I didn’t mean to.”
“It will be a good lesson,” went on Phil, while Jack tossed the fox into the bushes, the skin not being in good condition, and also too small to use. “He’ll be all right in a little while, and probably he won’t come prowling about the tent after dark again.”