A May Fox 



It was thought that the good dusting up he had 

 got after his battle with the terrier would be too 

 much for him, and that he would never leave the 

 earth in which he had found shelter. But the 

 prophets of evil were wrong for once in a way, 

 for I viewed him away from one of his old 

 haunts on the opening day of the following cub- 

 hunting season. He was, I believe, seen onece 

 again, and only once ; when hounds could do but 

 little with him. This was the last run he gave 

 us, and it was a good one, making a fine finish 

 to a good season. The stable clock was strik- 

 ing six as I rode into the yard — thirteen hours 

 in the saddle, not such a bad day when one was 

 after a May fox. 



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