60 WOLF-HUNTING. 



It was a glorious hunting morning the day they met at 

 Trefranc. No gossamer glittered on the grass, no "spangles 

 decked the thorn ; " but the soft west wind blew freshly over 

 the heath, the clouds were high, and all betokened steady 

 weather and good scent. 



" If it's not more than one old dog-wolf that has done all 

 this mischief," said St. Prix, as we approached the clump of 

 beech trees that towered over the little hamlet of Trefranc, 

 " he'll find some difficulty in clearing the cover with a whole 

 skin." 



His experienced eye had detected, at the distance of half a 

 league, a perfect cordon of peasants surrounding those points 

 of the cover at which wolves pointing for Dualt were accus- 

 tomed to break in times past. 



"It will be a fiery ordeal for him, at all events," said 

 Keryfan, noting the crowd ; "I devoutly hope the wolf's will 

 be the only skin to suffer on the occasion. For myself, I'll 

 take precious care to give those muskets a wide berth, as I 

 should sorely object to a slug wound from such weapons. To 

 be potted by a peasant in mistake for a wolf would indeed be 

 an inglorious finale." 



"Quite right, too," said St. Prix; "follow the hounds 

 closely, and the chances are you will be clear of all danger 

 from the flying shot. The wolf usually keeps well ahead of 

 them j and where he breaks there will break the storm of leaden 

 hail." 



This bit of advice was of course intended for me ; as, with 

 the exception of St. Prix himself, no men in Brittany had seen so 

 many wolves killed as Keryfan and Kergoorlas ; whereas this was 

 my first experience of an open peasants' day. The Louvetier 

 had scarcely done speaking when Louis Trevarreg, the trustiest 

 of his piqueurs, advanced rapidly from the cover-side, leading 

 old Tonnerre, the famous limier in a leash, and, lifting his hat 



