134 THE LIFE OF A FOXHOUND. 



" He dies, by the Lord ! " cried Trimbush, 

 in perfect ecstacy, as we flashed a few yards 

 over the scent, and then, turning, hit it off 

 short to the right. " He dies, he dies! " 

 cried he, throwing up his head, and waking a 

 loud echo from his deep-toned tongue. 



" What do you mean ? " inquired I, reeling 

 with weakness, and certain that my remaining 

 strength was all but spent. 



*' His point was Gretwith rock, as I 

 thought long since," replied the old hound; 

 " but he can't live the distance. He has now 

 turned short to run up wind, which proves 

 him to be a sinking one, and if he reaches 

 Quaffam wood it is as much as he can do. ' ' 



Seeing that Trimbush was serious, this 

 sage opinion lent fresh aid to our flagging 

 energies, and the skeleton of his force, com- 

 prising only Dash wood, Wildboy, and myself, 

 answered his cheer by redoubling our efforts to 

 run into the devil's own. 



The wood which Trimbush spoke of now 

 appeared at the bottom of a deep valley, and 

 into the underbush we dashed, confident that 

 the fox must hang, and also in the hope that 

 he would not live to leave it. I had no sooner, 

 however, entered the cover than, losing the 



