82 FOXHUNTING ON LAKELAND FELLS 



Although you meditate following them, your 

 better judgment prevails, for this dale has not 

 been previously disturbed, and you know that a 

 litter has been bred there. It is more than likely 

 that the fox will return ere long, so you walk a 

 short distance up the narrow trod leading to the 

 tops, and sit down to listen. Scattered about 

 the fell slopes are the little Herdwick sheep, tiny 

 things in comparison with a Southdown, but famed 

 for their quality as mutton. Overhead, wheehng in 

 wide spirals, a buzzard is rising to a dizzy height, 

 his shrill " whee-u, whee-u," sounding clear and 

 distinct. Over the fell head you hear the raucous 

 cry of a raven, and catch sight of a black speck 

 floating into the distance. A stoat, not yet in his 

 winter coat of white, darts in and out amongst 

 the rocks below you, and you watch his antics 

 until a distant sound catches your ear. You 

 Hsten intently, yes, there it is again, surely the 

 cry of a hound, although still a long way off. 

 They must be coming back, for the sounds are 

 nearer now, and louder. You take the glasses 

 from their case, and scan the fell head. Yes, 

 there they come, running fast, and their fox 

 cannot be very far in front at that pace. 

 Quickly you scan the ground between, and at 

 last you see him coming gamely along, but far 

 from fresh. Below you is a well-known earth, 

 which is no doubt his refuge, but to-day there 



