BY the Autumn when Redcoat was nearly four years old, the fall after the Red Flower went mad, and drove him and his family out of his beloved spruces, his fame had gone abroad through the countryside until his was the most coveted brush in four counties. Not only was he the largest and most beautiful fox on the mountain range, but he was also the cleverest, if one could believe all the stories he heard about him, which one could not. Hunters and fishermen are so apt to spin yarns when a company of good fellows get together, that it is often hard to disentangle truth from fiction. That is why the naturalist has to discard so many good stories about animals. But there was no discounting the fact that Redcoat was a wonder. He had given hounds and men many a long futile chase.
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Chapter IX
The Phantom Fox
