Fox-Hunting 299 



tobacco would leave little merchantable leaf 

 behind. Runs commonly begin or end in 

 the night. Preferably they begin then. Some 

 shrewd hard rider, maybe, feels the stir of 

 sporting blood along toward the first cock- 

 crow. He gets up, feeds himself and his 

 horse, mounts, and sets out, blowing his horn 

 as he rides, with his own dogs leaping and 

 howling at his heels, and other dogs answer- 

 ing the horn, from all the neighboring farm- 

 steads. 



He is not long lonely. Men come out of 

 every gate he passes with fresh hounds howl- 

 ing delight in their wake. Still the horn 

 sounds, still the hounds answer it, in long 

 drawn staccato chorus. By and by the riders 

 reach likely ground and cast off. They are 

 well-mounted. Even the common road stock 

 has several crosses of blood. Soil, climate, 

 and pastures help to insure condition — fur- 

 ther the riders each and several, and their 

 fathers before them, have known all about 

 horses and riding ever since they knew any- 

 thing. It is not long until the hounds, run- 

 ning out in leaping circles upon either hand, 

 strike the drag or cold trail, and open upon it. 

 Every rider knows the tongue of his own 

 hounds — the minute a challenge comes up 

 wind, the challenger's master answers with a 

 ringing shout, calling the hound's name, 



