230 THE FOX 



is a scenting day. The pack has started fairly close 

 to the fox. He has to lay his ears back and run for his 

 life. The voices of the hounds warn him of danger. 

 But there comes a change of note. A space of bad 

 scenting-ground or a field of plough has checked the 

 many tongues. Though hounds are still making the 

 most of every whiff of scent and after the manner of 

 high-bred foxhounds driving forward, and getting on 

 at a fair pace, the fox can steady his speed and catch 

 his second wind. Sometimes, as we have seen, he 

 actually lies down to rest. When the hounds are on 

 better scenting soil, or perhaps have been lifted over 

 the bad ground — a liberty the huntsman may take 

 freely when scent is good — the fox starts off again as 

 fast as ever, but much refreshed. Then he meets a 

 flock of sheep or a herd of cattle ; again the chorus 

 wanes, and once more the quarry slackens speed. 

 In front of him is a small covert, but it is not his 

 point, there is no earth, and a thick covert is no place 

 for a heated fox, so he creeps round, just skirting the 

 outside. 



Now this is another chance for him, and if hounds 

 flash over the line into the covert the fox may gain a 

 great deal of time and save his life. Hounds rush 

 about the covert, and when at last they pick up the line 

 again outside it is too late. Perhaps there is another 



