136 



RECREATION 



takes the big chance which none but the 

 Great Red Fox would dare. Some day 

 — perhaps, as I have said, to-day — he 

 will take the wrong chance, and lose. 

 Then we shall see what we shall see. 



What did I tell you ? A lagging hound 

 has caught him as he doubles, and 

 drives him up the mountain by the 

 walled path from which even he cannot 

 turn. Not one hound, but two and 

 three and four ! Ah, to be caught by 

 the laggards ! Such is the fate of many 

 who do the world's running ; they strive, 

 and others, who lie idly by, overtake 

 them at the tide's turning. 



Let us go up the path that the re- 

 turn may be surely closed against him. 

 The brush of the Great Red Fox is a 

 trophy worth years of scheming, and I 

 — I alone — have planned out the closed 

 path into which I knew he must some 

 day turn. At its end at the mountain- 

 top lies a sheer precipice whose edge is 

 ninety feet above the crags below. 



With a dozen hounds in full cry be- 

 hind him, he lopes almost leisurely up 

 the steep way. He is thinking, as the 

 Great Red Fox is wont to do. He will 

 have some plan. Yes, they are far 

 ahead of us now. 



Look, look ! Did you see him then ? 

 He has sprung high and clear — a good 

 twelve- foot bound — over the open jaws 

 of the hounds, and comes toward us. 

 Quick, quick ! We must stop him. 



Club your rifle. There, he hesitates and 

 turns slowly, but he is not wearied. 

 See now, what speed is that ! It is 

 like a star that falls from its place in 

 the heavens, only he shoots upward. 

 But the hounds may catch him and 

 rend him if we do not hasten. 



Blessed Mary ! Look at that ! He 

 has gone through the pack as the flying 

 star hurtles through the night, brushing 

 aside the hounds quite as easily, I swear. 

 And they, the best dogs in all your New 

 England ! 



Now must he stop of a surety, for 

 he has reached the end of the path. 

 Where is he? See the hounds gape in 

 wonder; they are looking about them 

 for a prey that is not there. 



Hasten, friend, hasten. Only from 

 the edge of the precipice may we see 

 what has happened. It is as I thought. 

 Ninety feet to doom upon those wicked 

 rocks below ! And not one of all the 

 pack to dare that glorious leap with 

 him ! 



What did I say to you but now? 

 That neither man nor dog nor bullet 

 might slay that wonderful beast who 

 will harry hennery and sheepyard no 

 more. Yet, friend, it is poor Peter, the 

 guide, who stands here with a tear on 

 either cheek; but who am I that God 

 should bestow upon me the peerless 

 brush of the Great Red Fox. 



