372 Sporting Sketches 



first time I followed a hare's track. It led across an 

 open to a big brush-pile, under which it ended. All 

 about was virgin snow. That the hare was as good 

 as mine I never doubted, so I kicked the pile. Noth- 

 ing showing, I mounted the pile and jumped on it 

 till it rocked to its base. Still nothing appeared. 

 Somewhat mystified, I began to remove the brush, 

 a branch at a time. This, with the gun in one hand, 

 was slow work, and every time a lump of snow would 

 shift I'd spring back and bring the gun to shoulder, 

 for I knew that hare would go like all outdoors when 

 it did go. When I got down to the bottom of that 

 brush-pile, and found only the spot where a hare had 

 lain up, I was mad and wise all through. 



But to return to the trail. The track told its 

 story. The maker of it had been going fast, but 

 as there was no following track, the hare, presum- 

 ably, had been bent upon urgent private affairs, and 

 might or might not be anywhere within a circle of 

 one hundred yards' diameter. The thing to do was 

 to follow the trail and find out. Now, following 

 the trail of a hare through heavy cover is no joke. 

 He may have visited every outpost of the swamp 

 during the previous night, and again he may not 

 have travelled a quarter of a mile all told. In either 

 event, one moves as though still-hunting deer, ever 

 sticking to the track and keeping a sharp lookout 

 in front. When the hare moves, it will be with an 

 easy leap from some shelter, followed by a rush 

 through the cover which carries the quarry from 

 sight with an astounding celerity. So the gun must 

 be ready for rapid action. As a, rule the hare will 

 be squatting under a brush-pile, log, or fallen top, 



