Bony had wriggled away from Paul and
begun to bark loudly.
"I've an idea," said the teacher, as he cut the foxtail from his
cap. Then he rubbed it in the blood and spittle of the fox and
tied it to the stub tail of Bony. The dog's four feet were scented
in the same manner. The smell of them irked him sorely. His hair
rose, and his head fell with a sense of injury. He made a rush at
his new tail and was rudely stopped.
"He's fresh, and they'll not be able to catch him," said the young
man, as Paul protested. "Wouldn't hurt anything but the tail if
they did."
Then breaking the ice curtain, as far from the hole as possible, he
gave Bony a spank and flung him out on the snow above with a loud
"go home." The pack saw him and scrambled up the bank in full cry.
He had turned for a glance at his new tail, but seeing the pack
rush at him started up the hillside with a yelp of fear and the
energy of a wildcat. When the two came out of the cavern they saw
him leaping like a rabbit in the snow, his hair on end, his brush
flying, and the hounds in full pursuit.
"My stars! See that dog run," said the teacher, laughing, as he
put on his snow-shoes. "He don't intend to be caught with such a
tail and smell on him.
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