124 RECREATION. 
pursuit. It seemed the fox was trying to 
outrun his pursuers in a straightaway dash. 
We struck a good road running our way, 
and what racing there was to catch up with 
the pack! We heard them tree, but before 
we got there the fox was killed. Jim 
Blackburn, living on the road, had heard 
the dogs and been unable to stay in 
bed; his dogs had joined ours, and when 
he rode to where they had treed, the fox 
sprang out and was killed. It was a large 
dog fox, and after some discussion it was 
decided to return and find its mate. 
This resulted in what the others de- 
clared one of the finest runs they ever par- 
ticipated in. My Lady Fox was soon dis- 
covered, and put up a run for life and 
liberty that for cunning, gameness and en- 
durance won my profound admiration. 
Once she passed us sitting still on our 
horses, in plain view, slipping like a fading 
shadow into the bushes that lined the little 
creek. Never getting out of hearing, seem- 
ingly loath to leave her accustomed walks, 
for nearly 3 hours she trailed, a deadly and 
musical choir in her wake. It was great! 
It was cruel and pitiful. It was magnifi- 
cent, but I thought of her lord and master 
tied to my saddle bow, self-sacrificed in a 
vain endeavor to lead those speedy devils 
away from the vicinity of his lady love. * 
Finally my lady began to dodge her way 
to a dense swamp far in the North, where 
in its tangled depths she might “gain refuge 
from her toil.” Again the rapid ride 
put the blood lust in me, and when we drew 
rein on a hill overlooking the swamp every 
cruel instinct was awake, and I said to 
Pickard, “I should like to see the kill.” 
“Come on,” and he was flying down the 
road. It was dark in those depths except 
where the moonlight fell in patches; 
branches slashed me in the face; the green 
briar brought blood, but in my ears a bed- 
lam of canine melody was ringing. It was . 
soon over. We were within 30 steps when 
they caught her. Dismounting, we ran up 
to the snarling, snapping mass of dogs, dust 
and flying leaves, into which Pickard 
plunged, kicking right and left. When he 
emerged he held the form of my clever 
little lady, already growing stiff with 
death. 
Then came the revulsion. While I said 
nothing, in my heart I hated a hound and 
grieved for the little lady done to death. 
I lay abed next morning and ached in 
every joint and tissue. I was congratulated 
on my conduct and change of heart, and I 
had to own that I had had magnificent 
sport. Magnificent it is; the wild riding in 
the moonlight, your pulses beating to the 
music of the pack; but when the dogs pile 
snapping and snarling on a little run down 
figure, and the leaves whirl and the dust 
rises it is cruel and pathetic. : 
TROUBLE WITH THE LAMBS. 
A Kansas farmer who employed a foot- 
ball player on his farm last summer had 
a herd of sheep that was causing him no 
little trouble. He called the college man out 
into the pen about 6 o'clock one morn- 
ing, and said that he wanted him to herd 
the sheep over to a certain place and then 
drive them slowly back, so as to have them 
in the pens by 7 o’clock that night. The 
new herder started out awkwardly, and the 
farmer returned to the stable. 
Supper time came and not a word had 
been heard from the sheep. Finally at 8 
o'clock the farmer began to be alarmed, 
and was getting ready to go out on a hunt, 
when he heard someone come whistling 
through the yard, and in walked the new 
hand, all smiles and apparently not tired 
at all by his day’s work. 
“Kinder late. Hev any trouble?” 
“Not much, thank you. Got along very 
nicely. But those 3 lambs did keep me 
busy, I will admit.” 
“Lambs! Ain’t got a lamb in the hull 
bunch.” 
“Well, I guess you have, all right. They 
are in the pen now.” 
The farmer grabbed the young fellow by 
the arm, and they hurried to the pen. There, 
chasing about among the sheep, the farmer 
found 3 jack rabbits——Kansas City Journal. 
