“Who’s Slicko?” asked Winkle.
“A jumping squirrel,” replied Sharp Eyes, and he told of the talk the two had had together.
For some days after this nothing much happened to Sharp Eyes. He stayed with his father and mother and brother and sister in their hollow log house, going out now and then to get something to eat, or to drink water at the brook.
“That boy of ours is going to be very smart,” said Mr. Fox to his wife one day.
“What makes you think so?” she asked.
“Why, when we were out hunting in the woods to-day he saw a big muskrat that I couldn’t see, and he caught it.”
“Yes, I think he has the best eyes, for seeing things to eat, of any foxes in this wood,” said Mrs. Fox. “I only wish his fur was a different color.”
“Why?”
“Because it is too beautiful. If it was red or brown, like yours and mine, the hunters and trappers would not be after him so much. But he is a silver fox, and you know how such skins are prized. There is a big reward for a silver fox skin, Red Tail’s mother told me.”
“Yes, I suppose there is,” said Mr. Fox. “I remember hearing, when I was a boy, that a silver skin was much sought after by hunters. I never was colored that way myself, but I knew a fox who was a boy when I was. He had silver fur, and one day he did not come to play with us. We asked where he was, and his father said a hunter had shot him to get his silver fur.”