THE FACE OF THE FIELDS 13 



it again and again. They were even now yelping 

 at the end of the baffling trail behind the ridge. 

 Let them yelp. It is a kind and convenient habit 

 of dogs, this yelping, one can tell so exactly 

 where they are. Meantime one can take a turn 

 for one's self at the chase, get a bite of chicken, 

 a drink of water, a wink or two of rest, and when 

 the yelping gets warm again, one is quite ready 

 to pick up one's heels and lead the pack another 

 merry dance. The fox is almost a humorist. 



This is the way the races are all run off. Now 

 and then they may end tragically. A fox cannot 

 reckon on the hunter with a gun. Only dogs en- 

 tered into the account when the balance in the 

 scheme of things was struck for the fox. But, mor- 

 tal finish or no, the spirit of the chase is neither 

 rage nor terror, but the excitement of a matched 

 game, the ecstasy of pursuit for the hound, the 

 passion of escape for the fox, without fury or fear 

 — except for the instant at the start and at the 

 finish — when it is a finish. 



This is the spirit of the chase — of the race, 

 more truly, for it is always a race, where the stake 

 is not life and death, as we conceive of life and 

 death, but rather the joy of being. The hound 



