for a few moments his vision faded and everything looked black to him.
Then in a flash it cleared, and he saw the boy on the further side of the creek again pointing the deadly thunder stick at him. He knew firearms full well. Several times in the course of his adventurous life he had heard this dread sound, and had carried away small pellets in his fur, so now the Red Hunter broke from cover and ran for his life. As he bolted he kept such cover as he could between himself and the boy.
Bang, went the small rifle again, and the bullet kicked up some sand between the flying fox's feet. Bang again, and this time the bullet struck ten feet behind him. The boy was miscalculating the speed of the flying fox. Out and in he zigzagged, all the time making for the deep woods on the bluffs above. In almost less time than it takes to tell the fox was out of sight, leaving the boy rubbing his eyes, and wondering how he had missed him three times.
But Mr. Fox thought he had come close
