Volume IX. 



RECREATION. 



JULY, J898. 

 G. 0. SHIELDS (COQUINA), Editor and Manager. 



Number U 



BOSTON AND BALDY. 



HERB. 



On the James river, a few years ago, 

 there lived a red fox with a record. 

 He had been unsuccessfully run with 

 many a pack of hounds, drawn from 

 half a dozen counties. He would so 

 completely outrun them that, within 

 an hour, the dogs would be on a cold 

 trail. Every one knew him, for he was 

 a monster in size and had a large patch 

 of white almost covering his mask. 

 From this he derived the name of Old 

 Baldy. The season before the one in 

 which this hunt took place, I had 

 jumped him twice, but each time, after 

 a short run, had lost him. 



One day in December, 1887, I met a 

 foxhunter from an adjoining county. 

 He inquired if Old Baldy still lived, 

 and said, " If he does, I should like to 

 go up and give him a chase." I told 

 him I intended hunting Baldy's range 

 in a few days, and invited him to come 

 and ride with me on the following 

 Monday. 



The gentleman, whom I will call 

 Bob, arrived with his pack of 12 dogs, 

 on Sunday evening. We looked over 

 my 9 black and tans. He seemed 

 pleased with their condition, but 

 thought, of course, they would trail 

 behind his dogs on the morrow. Af- 

 ter supper Capt. D — , one of the most 

 noted hunters in Virginia, rode over to 

 spend the night, so as to start early 

 with us. 



An hour before daybreak next 

 morning we were in the saddle, and 

 blowing our horns were off to the low 

 lands. On reaching them we started 

 up the river. Having gone a short 



distance my dog Rattler opened, at the 

 mouth of a near by branch. As the 

 pack struck in with him, we heard Old 

 Trupe treeing, some distance in ad- 

 vance. We found they had a small 

 coon up a willow tree. As the quick- 

 est way of getting the dogs off, I 

 climbed up and sent the squealer 

 down, to be torn apart in a jiffy. While 

 at the tree we were joined by several 

 neighbors, who had with them 6 dogs. 



The sun was rising and, not having 

 had a strike in the low grounds, we 

 decided to try the high lands. Taking 

 an old wood road we kept on for 4 or 

 5 miles; the dogs working well, but 

 without a cry except from Music as 

 she started a gang of turkeys. Cir- 

 cling toward the river, we reached the 

 bluffs and paused to rest. Luck 

 seemed against us. 



While standing, pondering what 

 course to pursue, we heard Boston's 

 loud voice. Let me digress for a 

 moment to describe that puppy, for 

 puppy he was, being only 14 months 

 old. He was a big, bony, powerful 

 black and light tan ; scraggly looking, 

 rough coated, long eared and with a 

 voice like a fog-horn. He had been in 

 at the death of a number of foxes, but 

 had not shown that there was much 

 in him. As his voice rang out that 

 morning there seemed a touch of busi- 

 ness in it which I had never noticed 

 before. 



I at once " hushed " the pack to 

 him, and they began working up the 

 river on a cold trail, but warming it at 

 every jump. 



