HUNTING ON THE FELLS 81 



the rough breast beneath you. Your companion, 

 a hill- shepherd, moves off a few paces in order to 

 get a better view, then suddenly turns and points 

 with his stick, exclaiming, " Sista, yonder he 

 gars ! " You look quickly towards the point 

 indicated, and there you see him, a fine fell fox, 

 his brush held stiff and straight behind him, 

 moving along with the smooth ghding action 

 peculiar to his kind. Once he halts and looks 

 back, then he resumes his eas}^ pace. Your com- 

 panion runs a few yards down the breast, and 

 you are treated to a sample of a dalesman's view- 

 halloa. Scream after scream rings out, echoing 

 from the crags. The fox, still in view, and un- 

 hurried, stops at the sound, glances back, then 

 mends his pace and disappears round the end of a 

 jutting crag. Hounds come like mad to the halloa, 

 scrambling up the steep ground at a wonderful 

 pace. The leaders strike the line, and there is a 

 burst of music as the remainder of the pack settle 

 to it, and go racing through the breast. You 

 watch them until hidden by a shoulder of the hill, 

 then scan the fell head anxiously for their re- 

 appearance. They are almost out of hearing, but 

 suddenly the cry is carried back to you clear and 

 distinct, and you see them chmbing out at the 

 fell head, looking like white ants in the distance. 

 One glimpse you get, and they are gone over the 

 fell top, heading for the rough ground beyond. 



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