THE ART ITSELF 175 



is there now, but he has not seen the fox. Of 

 course, you must hold the pack forward beyond the 

 stained ground, but it reaches for some distance 

 in front and to the left — the fox must have been 

 turned slightly to the left by the shepherd. Your 

 whip did not follow you at the double, and you 

 are still alone, so that you will have to make the 

 cast without assistance. Every hound has now 

 got his head up, and the hopelessness of trying to 

 hunt across this tainted soil is apparent. You 

 make a rapid calculation, and decide on a bold 

 cast forward to some seeds half a mile away, that 

 lie beyond the belt of plough. You are doing a 

 very risky thing, for hounds have covered some 

 four miles in fifteen minutes, and the fox must 

 be blown, in which condition he is likely to 

 turn short either way, or possibly double back. 

 Whistling to the pack, who are quite ready to 

 follow you, you canter forward with them over 

 the two fields where the turnips have been, then 

 over a freshly ploughed fallow, and crossing a road 

 you reach the seeds. Beginning nearly opposite 

 to where the shepherd stood, you cast down to the 

 left, parallel with the road. You know there is a 

 fair scent under ordinary conditions,' and as this 



