His supreme effort brought him within five feet of that white-tipped brush.

Then, strange to tell, the big black fox put forth his large reserve of speed, and making for the woods, left Skookum far behind.

Why?
The cause was clear.

Quonab, after vainly watching for a chance to shoot, that would not endanger the dog, had, under cover, crept around the lake and now was awaiting in a thicket.
But the fox's keen nose had warned him.

He knew that the funny part was over, so ran for the woods and disappeared as a ball tossed up the snow behind him.
Poor Skookum's tongue was nearly a foot long as he walked meekly ashore.
He looked depressed; his tail was depressed; so were his ears; but there was nothing to show whether he would have told that reporter that he "wasn't feeling up to his usual, to-day," or "Didn't you see me get the best of him ?".