# St. Nicholas/Volume 32/Number 2/The Fox who Knew

* related authors: Robert Bruce Horsfall.
* sister projects: Wikipedia article, Commons category, taxonomy, Wikidata item.
Once there was a fox who lived on a high mountain in California, and le knew all about traps. His name was Silver-gray, and his winter coat of fur was so beautiful that any lady would be proud to wear it. Tn fact. so many ladies wanted to wear fur like his that merchants offered a great price for his skin and for the skins of all his brothers, the family of silver-gray foxes,
Now there were in California many men who had trapped beavers and minks in the days when people liked to wear those furs. And when they heard of the great price offered for the skins of silver-gray foxes they took their heavy steel traps and their rifles and provisions, and climbed to the top of the high mountains which are called Sierra Nevada, that is, Mountains of Snow. There, when the snow lay heavy on the ground and Silver-gray’s fur was fine and long, they set their traps to catch him. But while they caught many of his cousins, the black foxes and cross-foxes, and also many of his own brothers, the silver-grays, they did not catch Silver-gray himself—because he knew all about traps.
No matter how carefully they buried their steel traps in the snow, Silver-gray knew where they were. He could smell the iron, and the touch of their hands, and even where their shoes had trodden the ground. For days after they had set them, when the scent had died out in the cold air, Silver-gray could still smell the iron of the traps; and he kept away.
When the spring came and Silver-gray shed his winter fur, all the trappers went down to the valley, for they did not want his skin unless it was covered with the heavy hair which grew when the weather was cold.
Next winter, as soon as the snow lay deep on the Sierra Nevada Mountains and Silver-gray’s skin was once more covered with fine long fur, all the trappers came back to their cabins in the mountains and set their traps again. For so heautiful was the fur of silver-gray foxes that every lady in the land wanted a skin, but the silver-gray foxes were so scarce that the great price of the year before had been doubled.
But there was an old man with a long beard who had trapped for many years, and when he saw Silver-gray’s track in the snow he knew that the fox’s skin was worth a great price. So, while the other trappers left the mountains, he remained behind; for he had resolved to catch Silver-gray, if it took all winter.
Now, first, in order to make Silver-gray tame and less afraid of the smell of man, this old trapper, whose name was Ransome, went out and shot wild pigeons and grouse and threw them in the places where he intended to set his traps. But Silver-gray passed by without eating them, for he remembered the terrible steel traps and was afraid of the smell of man. Then Old Man Ransome took some medicine which smells very sweet, and is called oil of bergamot, and he rubbed this on the trunks of the trees beneath which he had put the wild birds.
As Silver-gray was coming through the forest ​one night he smelled a very sweet odor, and when he followed up the wind he came to a pine-tree beneath which was the body of a wild pigeon fresh killed lying upon the ground. The scent of the sweet odor made Silver-gray’s mouth water. He was very hungry, but, as he stooped to eat the pigeon, he caught the smell of man.
Then Silver-gray raised his nose quickly from the choice morsels, and when he snuffed about the ground he found that the smell of man came from the feathers of the dead bird. There was no smell of iron near—and he was very hungry indeed. But the body of the dead bird smelled of man, and he went away without touching it.
On the next night Silver-gray was trotting through the forest when he smelled a very bad odor, like rancid fish-oil, and when he followed it up, he cane to a great rock at the base of which lay a fine grouse, newly killed, and the fresh meat lay all bloody before him. So rank was the odor of fish-oil that Silver-gray did not catch the smell of man in the feathers, and in a twinkling he devoured the whole bird. But as he trotted along the trail he scented the odor of man.
Until that time Silver-gray had always avoided the trails of men; but now that he was no longer hungry, he was lazy,and he wondered where the man was going, Besides, this track smelled only a little of man, and all the rest was like fish-oil, for Old Man Ransome had rubbed the oil on his shoes. So Silver-gray followed along the trail until he crossed another strange odor, better than any he had known, and he came to a tree where a fresh bird lay dead on the ground. The sweet smell of anise, dearest of all odors to a fox, came from its feathers; and, forgetting the scent of man, he mouthed and played with the dead bird a long time.
When the old trapper came by in the morning, and saw by the tracks what Silver-gray had done, he laughed to himself—thinking that he would soon catch him—and hastened off to bring his traps. Deep in the ground at the place where Silver-gray had eaten the grouse he dug a hole for his trap, and a trench from there to a short log, which he had buried in the ground. Then he pried open the great jaws of the trap and placed it carefully in the hole, with a piece of brown paper stretched over the top, so that the smell of iron could not come out. Along the trench he stretched the chain of the trap, and then he fastened it to the short ​log. When the trap and log and chain were all buried underground, he scattered leaves and feathers above the place, and went away. On the spot where Silver-gray had killed the bird that smelled of anise he buried another trap, and just at sundown he placed fresh birds beside them and fresh oil upon the trees.
Now there had been a time in the years before, when Silver-gray had seen his brothers and his cousins, the black foxes and cross-foxes, struggling in the jaws of steel traps, that he would never walk in a path where the feet of man had trod, nor touch anything which bore his scent. Those were the days when he knew all about traps. But now that his brothers and cousins were gone, and the odors of fish-oil and bergamot and anise covered up the scent of man and led him to good things to eat, there came a change in the life of Silver-gray, and he thought that he was smarter than the man.
So when he came to the bergamot-tree, where the men had thrown out a fresh pigeon and the air was filled with the sweet odor of the oil, he did not turn away, even when he caught the smell of iron, the scent of the terrible steel traps, but stopped and swung his head craftily. Pressing his nose to the ground, he snuffed about in a great circle, clear around the tree. This he did to find where the trap was buried—and then he began to scratch. Very carefully he reached nearer and nearer to the smell of iron until he was sure he knew where it was. Then he turned his back and began to kick small rocks and sticks and dirt at it. Chuck! went the great jaws, and threw up a shower of dirt. Silver-gray jumped when the trap went off, but when he saw the jaws half open and filled with dirt he curled his whiskers back and laughed. So this was why “He flitted across the snow like a flash of moonlight.” (See page 114.) the man had put out all the fresh birds and the sweet odors! But he would never catch old Silver-gray—not while his nose could smell iron and his feet scratch rocks! And once again Silver-gray curled his whiskers back in a foxy laugh, for he thought he knew all about traps.
When Old Man Ransome came to look at his traps in the morning, behold, each was sprung and filled with sticks and stones—and all the birds were gone. Then the old trapper scratched his head and sat down on a log and thought a long time what he would better do. At last he went back to his cabin and brought three more steel traps, and instead of one trap he set two under each tree, and he covered them yet more carefully. But in the morning all his traps were sprung again, and he saw where Silver-gray had scratched and scratched until he had come close up to them, and then kicked them full of sticks and stones. All three of the birds were gone again, and he saw that Silver-gray was still too smart for him.
On the next night Silver-gray came again ​and cautiously prowled and snuffed about—and this time he found that the man had set three traps at each place.
Curling back his whiskers in a scornful laugh. Silver-gray kicked them all full of stones; and when he had eaten the birds he dragged the three traps together and threw rubbish over them, to show the man how he disdained them.
But on the next night he found the traps all set again, the fresh birds and the sweet smells all there. And though once more he dragged them all into a pile to show his derision, on the night after that there were birds again awaiting his arrival.
“Once more he dragged them all into a pile to show his derision.”
Night after night, no matter how often he robbed them of bait, he always found the traps the same; yet each time he scratched about just as warily, for he knew that the man was full of tricks and all the time was trying to catch him.
For a month, with all his patience and skill, Old Ransome tried to catch Silver-gray—but every trick failed. No matter how carefully he buried the traps, no matter how, craftily he shifted them about, Silver-gray was always on the watch, and his cunning never failed. Old Ransome hid litle traps out in the rocks; he buried them under the sticks and in the dirt, where Silver-gray went for rubbish to kick over the big traps; he concealed them in all the little paths that Silver-gray had made. He even spent days following the tracks in the snow and seeking for Silver-gray’s den.
But, despite his skill and patience, in all things the fox was too cunning for him. If traps were set in his path he turned aside and ran up over the rocks. Never did he come in by the same trail twice.
When the man hunted for his den he hid in the heavy underbrush, where only a fox could crawl. And every time that he fooled the man his whiskers would curl back as he laughed. But one night he laughed too soon.
To catch the grouse with which he baited his steel traps Old Ransome had set snares on the mountain-side, and one night it happened that Silver-gray passed by the place and heard a bird fluttering in the snare. In a moment all his savage instincts were aroused. He flitted across the snow like a flash of moonlight, and, with a great leap, seized it by the neck. Mumbling and snarling, he devoured the poor bird. Then he sat down and curled his whiskers in a laugh; and that night he did not even visit the anise-tree.
In the morning, when Old Ransome looked at his steel traps, his face fell, for Silver-gray had not been near them, and he feared that he ​had gone away. But when he went down to his grouse snares, and saw where the fox had rushed in and devoured the bird, he was glad. A new idea came to him, and he chuckled and laughed to himself. Then beneath a fallen log, where the water had washed out a little channel just large enough for a fox to crawl through, he buried a steel trap ever so carefully, and he left it there two days, so that all the scent of his hands would die away.
On the third day he caught a grouse and tied it by the leg under the log, a little way back from the trap—and he tied it in such a way that it would flutter and be more certain to attract attention. It was a cruel thing to do, but the old man wanted to catch Silver-gray, and he was willing to do anything if he could only fool him at last.
It was all silent in the great mountains when Silver-gray, the old fox, trotted out across the white snow that glistened in the moonlight and passed along the hillside where the snares were set for grouse. It was a great joke to catch the trapper’s birds before he could use them for bait; and at the thought of the tender bird that he had eaten, old Silver-gray turned aside and went up to the snares. A sudden wind roared through the swaying tops of the black pine-trees, and he stopped to listen. Silver-gray did not know it, but the wind was singing a warning song. He was about to be caught.
There was nothing in the snares—yet, as he listened, he seemed to hear, even above the moaning of wind in the trees, a faint flutter—the flutter of wings. Alert, he stood there with the moonlight shining on his beautiful fur, and he pricked his ears to catch the sound.
Whks, whks, it whispered very faintly—but it came from the log on the hill. Eagerly the wily fox crouched down and glided silently toward it; then, with one foot raised, he stopped and listened, snuffing the air ever so lightly.
Whks, whks, whispered the wings again, soft as the rustle of a mouse.
Then Whrr and Whrr in a storm of anguished fluttering, for the grouse had heard his step and knew that he was coming.
Sngrr snarled Silver-gray, and rushed toward it.
Chuck! went the steel trap beneath him, and the strong jaws seized his foot in a grip that nipped like death. Bite and struggle as he would, the cruel iron, the iron which smelled of man and had once been his deadly fear, still clutched him by the leg—and only the hands of man could make it loose its hold.
With the cold body of the grouse beside him, Silver-gray lay moaning and snarling, while he waited for his captor to come. But even in his agony he bowed his head in shame, to think that he was caught. He had pitted his cunning against the cunning of Old Ransome—and now, in the grip of icy steel, he had learned the last thing about traps.