COUSIN JACK 197 



have a long start. Once back in the familiar covert, 

 he exhausts every dodge known to his kind. He 

 crawls in the ditches and slinks along until he is 

 actually running a few yards behind the pack. He 

 dodges to a small patch of standing corn, and when 

 the hounds are in the corn he is in the covert, when 

 the hounds are in the covert he is in the corn, and 

 so he plays a kind of game of hide-and-seek. At last 

 he runs a few yards out and lies down. Two or three 

 hounds run up to him, but touch him not. Old Victory 

 and Gambler fear nothing. Did they not once try 

 to tackle a wild boar with disastrous results ? Who- 

 whoop ! Not a bad morning, since for about forty 

 minutes out of the three hours we galloped hard over 

 a rough country. Hounds, say some people, will not 

 break up a jackal, but ours will with a little help. 

 The jack is killed. A hunting-knife makes an 

 incision or two, and he is thrown to the hounds and 

 they break him up fairly — that old sleeping partner 

 of the chase, Rollicker, who has done not a bit of 

 work, eating the lion's share, while Victory, who put 

 us right and is one of the keenest hounds, sits by and 

 looks on. Nevertheless, even the keenest hound will 

 grow slack for want of encouragement and blood. 

 Hounds may not care to break up the fox or jackal, 

 but for all that they like to see him killed. Anyone 



