THE MISCHIEF OF A FALSE HOUND. 223 



feeding time in the kennel, inasmuch as it was 

 Musto's constant practice to get all-fours into the 

 feeding trough, and, as he shovelled up what he 

 thought the best bits throughout the full length of 

 the trough, he grabbed by the nose any other hound 

 that came in his way or attempted to feed till he 

 had done. Musto and myself, therefore, had not 

 fraternised, and as to catching him in cover, that was 

 impossible ; all that I could then do was to shake my 

 fist at him, and to wish him at the devil. He crossed, 

 to my infinite regret, at a stealthy foot's pace, and in 

 the direction of the cry. On came that cry, merrily 

 and well, the blithe and eager chirrup of a foxhound 

 bitch or two, with Corbeau and other English dogs 

 backing them, and old Windsor, from the royal ken- 

 nels in England, joining them with his deep voice, 

 though unable to run alongside from being down with 

 a toe; some of the French hounds a mile behind, 

 roaring and doubling their tongues at the brambles. 



On it came, as direct for me as possible, and I could 

 hear the boar's broad shoulders thrusting in advance ! 

 '' Wow, wow, wow ! " suddenly went that infernal 

 old Musto, who had been lying in wait for the oppor- 

 tunity between me and the approaching boar, and I 

 heard the sanglier dash off to my right, and then 

 caught a glimpse of him springing the narrow ride, 



