192 THE MASTER OP THE HOUNDS. 



wick Jack, a fox which had beaten Mr. Farquarson's hounds iD 

 Dorsetshire for several consecutive seasons, that upon the 

 slamming of a gate or the sound of a horse's hoofs near the 

 covert, he broke instantly away ; and notwithstanding every 

 precaution and the entire silence of the huntsman when throw- 

 ing his pack into covert. Jack was ever on the look-out for 

 squalls, and made so good a start that he invariably beat his 

 pursuers, and saved his precious carcase from their fangs. To 

 prevent JEbxes being chopped in small spinnies or gorse coverts, 

 a few cracks from the first whipper-in's whip, as he s.pproaches 

 them, will be quite sufficient to make any fox on the alert 

 which is worth hunting, and here, of course, a good huntsman 

 will make rather more use of his voice. Foxes, however, like 

 weasels, are seldom caught napping, except, perhaps, on a very 

 windy day, and even then very rarely indeed. 



Another part of Will Beauchamp's system was to stick to 

 his hunted fox, whether good, bad, or indifferent. Bob Conyers 

 would sometimes remonstrate when he was hammering away at 

 a dodging brute, ringing round covert. 



" Leave him for another day. Will ; we want a gallop to 

 warm us this cold morning." 



"Bad habits grow upon foxes as well as men. Bob; and 

 unless I finish this brute off now, he will be much harder to kill 

 the next time we meet him, and I don't want any more of his 

 stock left in the country." 



The common practice of chopping and changing from one 

 scent to another, leaving a half-beaten fox in covert, and taking 

 the hounds off to find a fresh one, is very prejudicial to the pack, 

 causing them to lose confidence in themselves, and almost as bad 

 as lifting them to halloas. Hounds often treated in this manner 

 are always on the look-out for assistance when in difficulties, 

 and will never persevere with a bad scent. A pack in the 

 adjoining county to Beauchamp's, with a wild huntsman, were 

 one day at fault, when a loud shouting was heard from a man 

 on a hay-rick. " Hark holloa ! " screamed the huntsman, and 

 away want his darlings, best pace up to the hay, now followed 

 by all the field helter-skelter for another start. 



" Where's the fox gone V shouted the huntsman. 



** I ha'an't seed no fox, sur." 



" Then what the devil made you halloa ?" 



" The ould gentleman heself, I do believe ; and he'd a made 

 yoh hallo, if you'd seen un, as I did, spring off the cut of hay ; 

 the hair riz up on my head, like a hog's bristles." 



