io THE FACE OF THE FIELDS 



with the pack, and as often, oftener, I think, I 

 have loped and dodged and doubled with the fox, 

 pitting limb against limb, lung against lung, wit 

 against wit, and always escaping. More than once, 

 in the warm moonlight of the early fall, I have led 

 them on and on, spurring their lagging muscles 

 with a sight of my brush, on and on, through the 

 moonlit night, through the day, on into the moon 

 again, and on until — only the stir of my own 

 footsteps has followed me. Then doubling once 

 more, creeping back a little upon my track, I 

 have looked at my pursuers, silent and stiff upon 

 the trail, and, ere the echo of their cry has died 

 away, I have caught up the chorus and carried 

 it single-throated through the wheeling singing 

 spheres. 



There is more of fact than of fancy to this. That 

 a fox ever purposely ran a dog to death, would 

 be hard to prove ; but that the dogs run them- 

 selves to death in a single extended chase after a 

 single fox is a common occurrence here in the 

 woods about the farm. Occasionally the fox may 

 be overtaken by the hounds ; seldom, however, 

 except in the case of a very young one or of a 

 stranger, unacquainted with the lay of the land, 



