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faintly out, is instantly away from lip, and 

 all the field in motion. 



Master Fox is cunning, but Lovelocks 

 is cunninger. See, she has followed the 

 fence a hundred yards up wind, picked up 

 the trail where he leaped to earth after run- 

 ning along the rails, and is after him, call- 

 ing, with all her deepest notes, to man and 

 hound to follow and save the honor of the 

 field. Beautiful, beautiful see how straight 

 she goes ! Her fellows, streaming after, can 

 do no more than yelp, as with big, leaping 

 bounds they devour the grassy space. Ah ! 

 Master Fox, tricks will not serve you, save 

 you. You have run gallantly, but Love- 

 locks will not be left behind. Nearer, ever 

 nearer, she comes to the dark, sweated, hunt- 

 ed thing, that seems a mere shadow on the 

 grass in front of her, so straight, so skim- 

 ming, is its steady flight. Brush down, 

 tongue out, he toils, pants, away. If he can 

 but reach the woods, his rocky den is in the 

 hill-side just beyond. To it he strains yet 

 never shall he gain. 



Almost Lovelocks is on him her hot 

 breath overruns him ; he swerves darts 

 aside doubles but all in vain. Ring is 

 at Lovelocks' shoulder, Rattler a yard away, 

 with twenty more at back, the black colt 



