A FOX-HUNT IN THE DOWNS 



with his back to the wall. All is bare, inhospitable, 

 and open. The pack flashes forward, one hound three 

 lengths ahead of his fellows. He is within three yards 

 of his prey. The fox suddenly faces round, with open 

 mouth and bared teeth ; the big hound grapples him 

 fiercely, receiving a nasty bite as he does so ; in another 

 instant the whole pack are mingled in one wild delirium ; 

 the death has come. The huntsman gallops up, jumps 

 off his good chestnut, rescues the dead and now tattered 

 quarry, and, with the field gathered round him, pro- 

 ceeds to conduct the last rites in due form. 



Why, one asks oneself, instead of seeking the vale, 

 where fences are in plenty, sheep abound, and the 

 chances of escape are increased a hundredfold, did 

 that fox climb the bare down and suffer himself in that 

 first twenty minutes' burst to be practically coursed 

 to death ? That is a question impossible even for the 

 huntsman to answer. Perchance he sought a refuge 

 in the cliffs, which he found himself unable to attain ; 

 perchance he was turned from the valley by foot-people 

 outside the covert. Whatever his reasons, and no 

 doubt he had good vulpine reasons for the line he took, 

 the smooth, bare hills proved his undoing. He was 

 a stout fox, and in an average hunting county would 

 probably have stood before hounds for a long hour, or 

 even have made good his escape altogether. 



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