88 THE FOX. 



the mountain, keeping in our ears the uncertain bay- 

 ing of the hounds as they slowly unraveled an old 

 trail, my companions pointed out to me the different 

 run-ways, a gap in the fence here, a rock just below 

 the brow of the hill there, that tree yonder near the 

 corner of the woods, or the end of that stone wall 

 looking down the side hill, or commanding a cow 

 path, or the outlet of a wood road. A half wild ap- 

 ple orchard near a cross road was pointed out as an 

 invariable run-way, where the fox turned toward the 

 mountain again, after having been driven down the 

 ridge. There appeared to be no reason why the 

 foxes should habituallp pass any particular point, yet 

 the hunters told me that year after year they took 

 about the same turns, each generation' of foxes run- 

 ning through the upper corner of that field, or cross- 

 ing the valley near yonder stone wall, when pursued 

 by the dog. It seems the fox when he finds himself 

 followed is perpetually tempted to turn in his course, 

 to deflect from a right line, as a person would un- 

 doubtedly be under similar circumstances. If he is 

 on this side of the ridge, when he hears the dog 

 break around on his trail, he speedily crosses to the 

 other side ; if he is in the fields he takes again to the 

 woods ; if in the valley he hastens to the high land, 

 and evidently enjoys running along the ridge and lis- 

 tening to the dogs, slowly tracing out his course in 

 the fields below. At such times he appears to have 

 but one sense, hearing, and that reverted toward his 

 pursuers. He is constantly pausing, looking back 



