“I’ll look,” offered Don, peeping out between two bushes. What he saw made him cry out in animal talk:
“Oh, it’s a man coming with a gun! I guess he’s coming to get you, Sharp Eyes! He must have set the trap.”
“Oh dear! what shall I do?” asked Sharp Eyes.
Don, the kind dog, as soon as he had seen the hunter coming toward the place in the woods where the trap that had caught the fox was set, ran back toward Sharp Eyes.
“What are you going to do?” asked Sharp Eyes.
“I am going to try to help you get loose,” was the answer. “I don’t want to see you taken away by the hunter, and maybe kept until you grow to be a big fox, so they can take off your silver fur. I’m going to try to help you get loose.”
“Well, I’ll sort of push you, and you can sort of pull, and maybe you can pull your leg loose from the trap.”
“But it hurts when I pull on it,” said Sharp Eyes.
“No matter,” replied Don. “It is better to be hurt a little on the foot than to be kept a prisoner and maybe be hurt a lot, or even killed, when they take your silver fur. And we must be quick! The hunter will soon be here!”
“Oh, I would like to get away!” cried Sharp Eyes.
“Then pull as hard as you can on your leg that is caught in the trap,” said Don. “There is a way to open spring traps by stepping on them, but I don’t know about it. If my master were here he could do it. But he isn’t. You must help yourself and I’ll help you. Come now, pull!”
“Oh, but it hurts!” whimpered Sharp Eyes, as he pulled a little.
“No matter! It must be done!” said Don. “You pull and I’ll push you, Sharp Eyes.”
Don, the kind dog, put his shoulder against that of Sharp Eyes. The fox pulled on his leg as hard as he could. It hurt him very much, but the hunter could be heard coming nearer and nearer and Sharp Eyes did not want to be caught.
“Pull! Pull!” softly barked Don. “Are you pulling?”
“I am! I am!” answered Sharp Eyes. He felt as if his leg would come off, and the pain in his toes was very bad. But he did not give up, and, at last, with his pulling and Don’s pushing, out came the fox boy’s foot from the trap. Sharp Eyes’ toes were cut, and the skin and fur were scraped off so that he could not put that paw to the ground.
“But don’t mind about that!” barked Don. “You can run on three legs nearly as well as on four. I’ve done it myself when I’ve cut my foot on a sharp stone or a bit of glass. Come on, the hunter is very close! Run!”