Along in the autumn Jabe Smith took it into his head that it was inconsistent with his reputation as a woodsman to let the wily and audacious fox go any longer triumphant over gun and dog and trap. Having his crops all garnered, and some leisure on his hands, he decided to pit his wits in earnest against the craft of the animal, and call no halt this side of victory.
This resolution the grim backwoodsman, one blue and golden morning, confided half-derisively to the Boy, knowing that the latter would strenuously disapprove. Jabe had made up his mind, however; and all the Boy’s arguments and pleas left him unmoved. The subject, in its general aspects, had been well thrashed out between them many times, leaving both firm in their own views; but in the particular instance of Red Fox the backwoodsman felt his position unusually secure. He declared that the more strong and clever the big fox was, the more damage he could do, and therefore the greater the need of catching him. For once, the Boy acknowledged himself vanquished. But the picture which formed itself in his mind, of the splendid, sagacious fox mangled in trap or snare, or torn with shot-wounds, was one he could not contemplate. Though worsted in the discussion, he was not shaken in his resolve to save, at least, the animal’s life. He would spar for a compromise. And, indeed, Jabe was so elated at having got the better of his skilful and usually invincible young opponent that he was not far off from the mood to make concessions.
Having yielded the main point, that Red Fox must be captured, the Boy took what backwoods ethics would count fair revenge by casting doubts upon the backwoodsman’s ability to carry out the enterprise.
“You think yourself very clever, Jabe!” said he, gravely derisive. “But you can’t fool that fox, if you take all winter to it!”
Now it was just on this point that Jabe had his own misgivings. And he was too honest to deny it.
“I kin shoot him, for sure,” he answered, unruffled, “if I take time enough, waitin’ and hangin’ ’round! Any fool could do that, in the long run, if he hadn’t nothin’ else to do but hang ’round. What I lay out to do, is trap the critter, if I kin. If I can’t, you can’t!”
“Oh, you go along, Jabe!” jeered the Boy. “You can’t do it; and you know you can’t. But I could, if I would!”
Jabe Smith’s long face wrinkled sarcastically, and he bit off a chew of “black Jack” before replying.
“If you’re so blame smart,” said he, at last, “let’s see you do it. It’s easy enough to talk.”
This was the very invitation he had been wanting, and the Boy instantly dropped his air of banter.