Then, that shining, black fox loped gently away, his huge
tail level out behind him, and Skookum, sure of success, raced
up, within six or seven yards. A few more leaps now, and the
victory would be won. But somehow he could not close that six or
seven yard gap. No matter how he strained and leaped, the great
black brush was just so far ahead. At first they had headed for
the shore, but the fox wheeled back to the ice and up and down.
Skookum felt it was because escape was hopeless, and he redoubled
his effort. But all in vain. He was only wearing himself out,
panting noisily now. The snow was deep enough to be a great
disadvantage, more to dog than to fox, since weight counted as
such a handicap. Unconsciously Skookum slowed up. The fox
increased his headway; then audaciously turned around and sat
down in the snow.
This was too much for the dog. He wasted about a lungful of air
in an angry bark, and again went after the enemy. Again the
chase was round and round, but very soon the dog was so wearied
that he sat down, and now the black fox actually came back and
barked at him.
It was maddening.
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