Fox-Hunting in California 69 



so kept my eye on the wild grape where it fell over and 

 covered the limb of a sycamore. As I looked, out from 

 among the long broad leaves I saw a small, black-gray 

 face, a pointed muzzle, and big ears. It was Reynard, 

 and in defiance of any Eastern or English code of fox 

 ethics, he was in the tree-top very much at home, 

 embowered with the grape, and under a canopy of 

 light-green mistletoe. The dogs had not discovered 

 him ; they were still playing on the accuracy of their 

 scent. Then some one lifted an old hound into the 

 tree and the dog began to pick his way upward. Any 

 one who has never seen a tree-climbing hound will 

 hardly believe how high a clever and eager dog will go 

 in a slanting oak or sycamore. This hound felt his 

 way up and literally bayed the fox from its arboreal 

 cover. Out it sprang, in full sight of the hounds that 

 went baying mad ; it ran along the grape highway, as 

 nimbly as a wood-rat, leaped into the sycamore, out 

 upon a long branch to plunge down the vines, and as 

 quick as a beam of light, dropped into the chaparral 

 and disappeared with the hounds in full cry. 



It was my good luck to fall into line directly behind 

 the hounds and I saw the fox take an oak. It did not 

 spring, but deliberately shinned up the small trunk, 

 reaching a limb upon which it swung, then leaped into 

 the thick branches and ran from tree to tree with a 

 speed with which I could not keep up, owing to the 

 thickness of the trees, reached the opposite side of the 

 arroyo, and from a small sycamore sprang into the 



