254 AUDUBON THE NATURALIST. 
is completed. The glaring torch-light is soon 
seen dispersing the shadows of the forest, and 
like a jack-o’-lantern, gleaming along the skirts 
of the distant meadows and copses. Here are 
no old trails on which the cold-nosed hound tries 
his nose for half an hour. to catch the scent. 
The tongues of the curs are by no means silent 
—ever and anon there is a sudden start and an 
uproarious outbreak: “A rabbit in a hollow, 
wait, boys, till I twist him out with a hickory.” 
The rabbit is secured and tied with a string 
around the neck: another start, and the pack 
runs off for a quarter of a mile, at a rapid rate, 
then double around the cotton fields and among 
the ponds in the pine lands—‘ Call off your 
worthless dog, Jim, my Pincher has too much 
sense to bother after a fox.” Aloud scream and 
a whistle brings the pack to a halt, and presently 
they come panting to the call of the black hunts- 
man. After some scolding and threatening, and 
resting a quarter of an hour to recover their 
breath and scent, they are once more hied for- 
ward. Soon a trusty old dog, by an occasional 
shrill yelp, gives evidence that he has struck 
some trail in the swamp. The pack gradually 
make out the scent on the edges of the pond, and 
marshes of the rice fields, grown up with willows 
and myrtle bushes. At length the mingled 
notes of shrill and discordant tongues give evi 
