88 



THE FOX. 



of the hounds as they slowly unraveled an old trail, 

 my companions pointed out to me the different run- 

 ways, — a gap in the fence here, a rock just below the 

 brow of the hill there, that tree yonder near the corner 

 of the woods, or the end of that stone wall looking 

 down the side hill, or commanding a cow path, or the 

 outlet of a wood road. A half wild apple orchard near 

 a cross road was pointed out as an invariable run-way, 

 where the fox turned toward the mountain again, after 

 having been driven down the ridge. There appeared 

 to be no reason why the foxes should habitually pass 

 any particular point, yet the hunters told me that year 

 after year they took about the same turns, each gener- 

 ation of foxes running through the upper corner of that 

 field, or crossing the valley near yonder stone wall, 

 when pursued by the dog. It seems the fox when he 

 finds himself followed is perpetually tempted to turn in 

 his course, to deflect from a right line, as a person 

 would undoubtedly be under similar circumstances. 

 If he is on this side of the ridge, when he hears the 

 dogs break around on his trail, he speedily crosses to 

 the other side ; if he is in the fields he takes again to 

 the woods j if in the valley he hastens to the high land, 

 and evidently enjoys running along the ridge and lis- 

 tening to the dogs, slowly tracing out his course in the 

 fields below. At such times he appears to have but 

 one sense, hearing, and that reverted toward his pur- 

 suers. He is constantly pausing, looking back and 

 listening, and will almost run over the hunter if he 

 stands still, even though not at all concealed. 



