42 THE FOX 



was not the original one), up the slope to the 

 low stile behind the tree we gallop. The hounds 

 are throwing their tongues on the far side of the 

 wood. The fox will break soon, for I never knew 

 him fail somehow to leave when hounds were at 

 the farther side. There he goes, a hard-looking 

 customer with an easy stride. He sits up for a minute 

 or two, then glides swiftly on. A holloa brings 

 hounds streaming out. We gallop for four miles 

 hard and straight ; then we lose him. Such foxes 

 often disappear altogether. I believe that at last 

 they become too clever to be hunted at all. The 

 least sound is enough, the crack of a whip-thong, 

 the clang of a gate, an unwonted whiff of tobacco, 

 the dull sound of hoofs in the ride, and the old 

 customer is off at once before hounds are in 

 covert and ere the quickest whipper-in can go round 

 to view him : to such perfection has he brought the 

 art of using the ground to conceal his movements. 

 Swift and untiring, he is far out of reach in some 

 distant covert before the hunt has fairly begun. 

 When at last he is overtaken by death, it is age 

 that runs him to ground, or it may be the teeth of 

 some younger rival ; or occasionally at last the hounds 

 do catch him when his prime is past—' a very old 

 fox,' says the hunting diary ; ' not a tooth in his head.' 



