THE LIFE OF A FOXHOUND. 83 



** The scent has nothing whatever to do 

 with it, notwithstanding what a parcel of 

 cackling geese may have said and written. 

 The truth is, a fox is a timid, sly animal with 

 extraordinary quick ears and eyes, and a 

 famous nose. When found, he, of course, 

 must break where there's an opening; and as 

 no men place themselves up wind of us, or 

 very seldom, that side is generally left free, 

 and away he rattles uf wind at the burst. I 

 am now, of course, speaking of the rule, and 

 not the exceptions. He does not go far, 

 however, before he smells, hears, or sees 

 something unpleasant, which turns him either 

 to the right or left. Another lurking cause 

 of suspicion that there's an enemy in front, 

 as well as those in the rear turns him again, 

 and so on until he gets his head straight down 

 wind, when, smelling and hearing nothing 

 before him, he tries to make his point and get 

 out of the reach of our ringing cries, and, as 

 he knows full well — whetted appetites." 

 " That sounds reasonable," remarked I. 

 " Thank you," rejoined the old hound, 

 flourishing his stern. '* I'm flattered with 

 your approval." 



" I noticed that the scent continued to 



