74 WINTER SUNSHINE 



tain baying of the hounds as they slowly unraveled 

 an old trail, my companions pointed out to me the 

 different run- ways, — a gap in the fence here, a rock 

 just below the brow of the hill there, that tree yon- 

 der near the corner of the woods, or the end of that 

 stone wall looking down the side-hill, or command- 

 ing a cow path, or the outlet of a wood-road. A 

 half wild apple orchard near a cross road was pointed 

 out as an invariable run- way, where the fox turn#d 

 toward the mountain again, after having been driven 

 down the ridge. There appeared to be no reason 

 why the foxes should habitually pass any particular 

 point, yet the hunters told me that year after year 

 they took about the same turns, each generation of 

 foxes running through the upper corner of that 

 field, or crossing the valley near yonder stone wall, 

 when pursued by the dog. It seems the fox when 

 he finds himself followed is perpetually tempted to 

 turn in his course, to deflect from a right line, as 

 a person would undoubtedly be under similar cir- 

 cumstances. If he is on this side of the ridge, 

 when he hears the dog break around on his trail he 

 speedily crosses to the other side; if he is in the 

 fields he takes again to the woods; if in the valley 

 he hastens to the high land, and evidently enjoys 

 running along the ridge and listening to the dogs, 

 slowly tracing out his course in the fields below. 

 At such times he appears to have but one sense, 

 hearing, and that reverted toward his pursuers. He 

 is constantly pausing, looking back and listening, 

 and will almost run over the hunter if he stands 

 still, even though not at all concealed. 



