So he howled softly, and barked a little, almost like a dog, for a fox is really a sort of wild dog.
No one answered his calls for help, however, and then the fox, feeling very sad, curled himself up in one corner of the box-trap and tried to think what was best to do. For foxes and other wild animals do think, in a way, and foxes, especially, are very smart at keeping out of traps, or getting loose once they are caught. But there seemed to be no way out for Sharp Eyes this time.
“It was silly of me to come in here after this rooster,” thought the fox boy. “I thought this box was a little chicken coop, but it was nothing but a trap. Oh dear!”
All of a sudden Sharp Eyes sat up. He heard some one coming through the woods. He could hear the rustle of dried leaves and the cracking of little sticks as they were stepped on and broken. At first Sharp Eyes thought perhaps his father or mother, or some of the other foxes, might be coming to help him. But as the noise grew louder, the fox said:
“That can’t be any of my friends. They would never make as much noise as that”; for, you know, wild animals go through the woods very softly indeed.
“Maybe it’s Don, come to help me again,” thought Sharp Eyes. “I’ll call to him.”
So, in animal talk, Sharp Eyes called:
“Don! Don! Is that you? I’m in another trap! Please help me out!”
Sharp Eyes listened, but he did not hear Don’s voice in answer. Instead he heard man-talk, or, as afterward it turned out to be, boy-talk.
“Hark!” cried one boy. “Did you hear that?”