“Well, I’ll take him home, and then I’ll have my father take off his skin and sell it. Come on, help me carry the fox home.”
“But won’t he bite?” asked Jack.
“We won’t let him out of the trap,” said Tom. “He can’t get out. We’ll carry him home, trap and all.”
“And the rooster, too?”
“Yes, the rooster too. He was good bait. I thought a fox would come to my trap if he heard a rooster crow.”
And that is just what happened, you know, though Sharp Eyes did not understand all that the boys were talking about.
Through the woods, for mile after mile, Tom and Jack carried Sharp Eyes in the trap. At last they came to some fields and, crossing these, they reached the house where Tom lived. His father was chopping wood and another man was standing near. This man had a gun, and beside him lay a hunting dog.
“Hello, Tom, what have you there?” asked his father.
“I caught a fox in my trap,” answered the boy. “It’s a silver fox, too!”
“A silver fox!” cried the man with the gun. “Did you say a fox with silver-colored fur?”