COUSIN JACK 195 



morning hours are precious. We want to find our 

 jack and drive him away when the dew is just 

 warmed, as it is then that scent is at its best. Earlier 

 the moisture is too cold, later the sun dries it up and 

 there is no scent at all. The best scent I ever knew 

 in India was when a light shower had fallen on a 

 sandy soil. Hounds fairly screamed for twenty 

 minutes and beat us all. 



But there is the covert, and the field ride along 

 outside, the Master and hounds disappear. In a few 

 minutes the former is wet through. To ride into an 

 Indian covert on a dewy morning is to take a shower 

 bath. What does the jackal make of it all? He 

 is not acquainted with the moves of the game as 

 his relative the fox is. He has slunk home an hour 

 or two before with the air of a suspected pickpocket 

 that is peculiar to the jackal, and is in a light sleep. 

 Like his cousin Reynard he may have a village 

 hen-roost raided overnight to dream of. Does he 

 connect the strange noises with himself? But the 

 music of the pack, if not exactly his own dialect, is 

 a sound which he can interpret. The hounds are 

 clearly hunting something. At all events he slinks 

 out of the way, not hurrying, but someone views him 

 and holloas and the hounds are cheered on to him. 

 It is better to seek some other refuge, so he goes 



O 2 



