OH, SHOOT! 



be his own grub supply; he sees to it that they 

 have a tent and a bed as good or better than 

 his. But while he is a considerate master, 

 he is likewise a disciplinarian, and woe betide 

 such impetuous members of the pack as, in a 

 moment of abandon, take a deer track. Uncle 

 Jim waits patiently until they return ; then he 

 dismounts, breaks off a stout limb, and cleans 

 up. The welkin rings to his profane chidings, 

 to their agonized excuses, and to a hollow 

 drumming. Pot-hound never runs deer; he 

 knows his business thoroughly, and when his 

 younger colleagues take a false scent, he, too, 

 sits down and awaits the inevitable reckoning. 

 He enjoys that reckoning; it pleases him 

 deeply, and he makes no secret of the fact. 

 He is both satisfied and refreshed thereby, and 

 he hunts better afterward. 



We were away early on the second morning, 

 and before we had followed the rim for a mile 

 our dogs gave tongue and set off under forced 

 draught. After them we galloped through 

 thick, low cedars, the stiff limbs of which invited 

 us to tarry awhile. Dodging and ducking and 

 twisting, we tried to keep abreast of the pack, 

 and, in order that we might find our way back, 

 we left rags of flannel shirting here and there. 



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