I70 FOX-HUNTING 



day, and you have an idea that old fox will run 

 straight. Consequently you ride straight up to 

 the spot you are thinking of — a patch of rough 

 tussocky grass, guarded on three sides by a screen 

 of blackthorn, and open on the south to catch 

 the fleeting warmth of a winter's sun. He is 

 there sure enough to-day, and as your vigorous 

 tally-ho reaches his ear, he gives a whisk of his 

 well-tagged brush and disappears amongst the 

 thorns. All the hounds near at hand fly to your 

 cheer and are soon in hot pursuit, making the 

 undergrowth crackle as they force their way 

 through it. Meanwhile another portion of the 

 pack have a fox on foot elsewhere, but you are 

 determined to go away with the first that leaves 

 whatever happens. The old fox at once recog- 

 nises the danger of staying long in covert with 

 such a good scent, and, after dodging once or 

 twice to gain time, he slips quietly away on the 

 down -wind side, whilst his enemies are for the 

 moment at fault. Will, the first whip, blows his 

 whistle, and you know at once what has happened. 

 Now is the time to use your voice if you have 

 one, and if hounds have confidence in you they 

 will flock to your heels as you hasten through 



