drowned himself in less than a foot of water. Guess I better shoot him through the head though and make sure of him."
He raised the rifle and had almost pressed the trigger when he remembered that a fox skin tears very easily. He would tear the skin enough in getting it off without making any extra bullet holes in it, so he lowered the rifle and poked the fox with the muzzle instead. He was as limp as a bag of feathers. Then Bud pressed his head under the water and held it there for half a minute, but not a muscle moved.
"He's sure enough dead," said the trapper at last, "but I don't understand how it happened."
Standing his rifle against a tree nearby, Bud pulled the splendid fox out on the bank by the chain, released the forepaw from the trap and picking the fox up in his arms carried him a few feet from the stream and laid him in a patch of sun-light to dry. What a beauty he was Bud thought as he brushed the water from his bright fur. What a wonderful muff he would make for Kitty.
