But Redcoat did not heed the sound; it was only the wind.
But now as he paused before the trap, this warning became even more insistent. Even the trees, the ferns and the bushes seemed to cry "beware," until poor Redcoat was nearly distraught with the contending forces that were pulling this way and that upon his life.
For perhaps a full minute Redcoat groveled upon his belly before the trap. The trap which all his senses and his instinct and his fox cunning told him was a trap, while the trees, bushes and ferns all held their breath. The spirit of the woods, that gentle custodian of the wild things, again cried "go back," but Redcoat did not hear her, or if he did he did not heed the warning. Finally the resistance of his will to the overpowering fox charm went down and he crawled, still groveling upon his belly, into the trap, his jaws dripping saliva, and trembling in every muscle. His suspicions were entirely put to sleep, and his splendid native cunning was for the time being dormant.
