"What do you mean, it ran alongside of you?" asked Bob; "the last I saw of it, it was flying."
"Flying!" exclaimed Ruth. "Why it ran along the ground just like a dog and had a big red bushy tail. I was sitting on a stump taking a rest when you fired. It came sneaking up the hill toward me, all the while watching you. It came up so close I could have put my hand out and touched it. It stopped right in, front of me for a minute or two and then ran off up over the ridge."
"What are you talking about Ruth?" asked Bob. "The thing I shot at was a hawk and it flew through the air. It didn't run along the ground at all."
"Oh," said Ruth, "what I saw must have been a fox, and, Bob, it stood just in front of me for a minute or two before it turned and went away."
"If that's so why didn't you shoot it?" demanded Bob.
"I was too excited. I never thought about shooting it."
"Well, you lost an opportunity of a lifetime. You'll probably never get a chance to get a fox as easy as that again."
"Please don't tell the folks at the house, Bob, that I had the buck fever—they'd never get through teasing me if they knew I'd let such a chance go by."
They hunted all the rest of the morning, but got only three grey squirrels, of which Ruth shot two.
A few days later, as Ruth was crossing the oat stubbles, she saw a small black and white animal skipping along through the stubbles just ahead of her. Thinking it was a kitten that had strayed from the house, she rushed after it and was almost ready to pick it up when she suddenly changed her mind and started for the house as fast as she could go.