HUNTING THE SNOW 



saw it all the white hare, the yelling hounds, nip 

 and tuck, in a burst of speed across the open field 

 which must have left a 

 gap in the wind behind. 



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It had all come as a surprise. The 

 hounds had climbed the hill on the 

 scent of a fox, and had started the hare unexpectedly. 

 Off he had gone with a jump. But just such a jump 

 of fear is what a hare's magnificent legs were in- 

 tended for. 



Those legs carried him a clear twelve feet in some 

 of the longest leaps for the ridge ; and they carried 

 him to safety, so far as we could read the snow. In 

 the medley of hare-and-hound tracks on > 

 the ridge there was no sign of a tragedy. 

 He had escaped again but how and 

 where we have still to learn. 



We had bagged our hare, yet we have 

 him still to bag, and taking up the trail 

 of one of the dogs, we continued our hunt. 

 One of the joys of this snow-hunting is 

 having a definite road or trail blazed for 

 you by knowing, purposeful wild-animal 

 feet. 



You do not have to blunder ahead, 

 breaking your way into this wilderness 

 world, trusting luck to bring you somewhere. The 

 wild animal or the dog goes this way, and not that. 



