With the Hounds in New Hampshire. 
One day late in October I arrived in Bristol, 
in northern New Hampshire, in the foothills 
of the White Mountains. It had been my 
custom to “Sunday” there often, especially in 
the fall, as I am a great lover of the dog and 
gun and know the hunters of the town. After 
a ride up the long, steep hill, I shook hands 
with genial Uncle Prescott at the hotel, where 
Charles assigned a room to me, and I went to 
see Charles Follansbee. 
In the latter’s shop I found the fox hunters 
in full force. Beside Charlig F. there were 
Capt. Bill Beckford and Anson Dolloff. After 
a greeting from all, Charles said: 
“You came just in time; Billy. We are 
arranging a hunt, and if we get a still morning 
and a good frost, we'll have a ripper. Anson 
has a friend coming from Plymouth with a dog 
he thinks pretty well of, and Capt. Bill’s son- 
in-law is coming from Hill, and with you, we'll 
have just the right crowd. We are planning to 
go over to Smith farm in Bridgewater. There 
are plenty of foxes, and they have been living 
high on Smith’s poultry” 
Next day I drove with Harry Wilbur to 
Hebron Village at the head of the lake, and 
coming home by the Smith farm, we arranged 
for the hunters to have an early breakfast on 
the following morning. That night all hands 
gathered at the shop and swapped fox hunting 
stories till I was so filled with it all that I had 
to put my gun together before I could think of 
sleep. We were to meet at the Smith farm for 
breakfast at 6 o’clock. I had arranged with 
Orie, the night clerk, engineer and watchman, 
to call me at 4 o’clock, in time to get a cup of 
coffee and put up a lunch before starting on 
the nine-mile drive. In some manner Orie 
mixed the number of the rooms, so instead of 
rapping on my door. No. 7, he knocked on No. 
9 and called. 
“Get up, it is a good morning for fox¬ 
hunting.” 
“I’ll fox-hunt you if I get up!” replied the 
man. 
I laughed and Orie came to my door. I had 
the lunch ready and my coffee finished when 
Charles drove up. It was a fine, still morning, 
with a white frost and sharp enough air to 
make a coat and gloves comfortable. As we 
drove along Charles told me he had brought 
but one dog. Harper. Old Ben, Harper’s sire, 
was, according to Charles, the best dog that ever 
ran a fox in this part of the country. “And if 
this pup is one-quarter as good,” he added, “I 
am satisfied.” 
We reached the Smith farm at 5:45 and found 
the others waiting for us in spite of our early 
start. Capt. Bill had Lion, a good driver and 
fair starter, and Dolloff and his friend had 
Sport and Trailer, an old-fashioned, heavy¬ 
voiced dog. These dogs and Flarper gave us 
a good pack- 
Charles took his dog to Fox Point, which 
stretches out into the lake. Capt. Bill took 
Lion to the ledges at the base of Bear Hill. 
Dolloff took the other two dogs into the woods 
in Smith’s pasture and we all went back and 
enjoyed a country breakfast. 
While we were eating, Dolloff went to the 
door and carne back, saying, “One of the dogs 
is driving and is coming over toward the big 
woods in the pasture.” 
tie and his friends took their guns and 
hustled down to the woods. The rest of us 
kept on with our breakfast, but left the table 
in a hurry when we heard two shots in the di¬ 
rection the boys had taken. They had killed a 
nice fox in front of Harper. 
The dogs were then heard under the ledges 
and on Bear Hill, and Harper started off again 
on an old track. Sport and Trailer had their 
fox going, and Lion was driving on the slope 
of Bear Hill. Then we heard Harper over to¬ 
ward Pine Hill, and soon his barking showed 
he was fast getting near his fox. Dolloff and 
his friend stopped in the corner of the pasture; 
Capt. Bill went to the old graveyard near the 
lake; Capt. Bill’s son-in-law went out on Fox 
Point and Charlie and I took stands on the 
Pine Hill ledges. The last we heard of Harper 
he was going toward Plymouth Mountain. “If 
he puts that fox up on Plymouth Mountain, it 
is good-day fox,” said Charles. We went up 
the Plymouth stage road till we could get above 
the ledges, Charles taking a stand 100 yards 
below me, while I found a good corner in a 
pasture where foxes often crossed through a 
pair of bars. 
Our dog had gone out of hearing, but it was 
sweet music to hear Lion putting his fox to¬ 
ward Fox Point, and the other hounds were 
driving beautifully on the southern slope of 
Bear Hill. An hour passed with the three 
hounds in hearing distance all the time. At last 
a shot was heard in the direction of the point 
and the hound ceased baying. I had stuck to 
my stand as Charles had told me, “When you 
take a stand, stick to it till night.” The sun 
had risen higher, and it was just warm enough 
to be pleasant. There was no wind, so we 
could hear a hound across the lake on the hill 
toward Alexander. Several times I thought I 
heard something moving and kept a sharp 
lookout, but nothing came into sight. Charles 
came over and sat down and we munched ap¬ 
ples and listened to the two dogs, driving 
merrily on Beaver Hill. 
“Have i^ou heard anything of Harper?” asked 
Charles. 
“Not a sound,” I replied. 
“His fox must have taken to Plymouth Moun¬ 
tain after all,” he said. 
We filled our pipes, and lying at ease, en¬ 
joyed a good smoke and the beautiful fall day. 
Suddenly Charles jumped up and said, “That 
fox has left the hill where he has been playing 
and is coming on our hill. If he does not cross 
near Anson and his friend, one of us stands a 
good show of getting a shot at him.” 
He hustled back to his stand while I watched. 
The dogs crossed the road about a quarter of a 
mile below Charles and circled off on the west¬ 
ern side of Pine Hill until beyond hearing. 
Charles came up at noon. When we had 
finished lunch, as I was dry, I went to a 
spring back of a deserted farmhouse a quarter 
of a mile up the road. Going through the yard 
I saw something move in the orchard and there 
was a good sized doe standing sniffing the air. 
She winded me and a few jumps took her out 
of sight. There are quite a few deer in that 
section. It being a closed county, the deer are 
not hunted at all. 
We were enjoying a quiet smoke, when faintly 
on Pine Hill we heard the deep voice of the 
hound that was with Dolloff’s dog. Later we 
heard another dog, and Charles thought they 
•had headed the fox round our side of the hill. 
“You stick right on this stand,” said Charles, 
“and I’ll go down the road where they crossed 
before, as that fox is surely going back over 
the ledges on Bear Hill, where the dogs started 
him.” 
Charles killed fox No. 3, and while he was 
taking the pelt off, the dogs came up, ten to 
fifteen minutes behind the fox, followed by 
.A.nson and his friend, who said the fox passed 
them just out of range. 
We crossed the pastures to Smith’s, who 
brought a pitcher of new cider. While we were 
smoking Capt. Bill walked toward Fox Point. 
When he came back he said he believed Lion 
had holed a fox on the point. Armed with 
shovel, pick and crowbar, we went to the point 
and found Lion digging frantically. We helped 
him and got fox No. 4. 
Mr. Smith was delighted. Four of the “pesky 
varmints” put out of the way. Of course that 
called for another pitcher of cider. We were 
all satisfied with our day’s hunt, and drove 
with the other two teams as far as the wood 
road, saying more in joke than anything else 
that we would find Harper and kill the best fox 
of the day in front of him before we went 
home. We drove well up onto the hill, hoping 
to hear a faraway baying of a hound, then on 
up the Plymouth road and back to the junction. 
We sat there a few minutes and I thought I 
heard a faint bark. The dog came nearer, and 
we were watching, when I saw the fox go be¬ 
tween a bunch of scrub spruces, jump the stone 
wall, cross the pasture and up over the hill 
through a pair of bars. About three minutes 
behind came Harper, running with his head well 
up. We tied the horse and went to stands in 
the pasture. I Sat on a rock about sixty feet from 
the corner, where I could watch both ways. 
Perhaps thirty minutes passed, then I heard the 
hound coming once more. I ’looked at my 
gun, shoved the safety back and waited. I 
heard a rustling in the dry leaves, then a flash 
of red through the holes in the wall and I saw 
a big red fox on the wall. I threw up the gun, 
and when he jumped, I pulled. He turned com¬ 
pletely over in the air and landed head to the 
wall, but tried to get on his feet. I was taking 
no chances and gave him the left barrel, and 
the biggest fox of the day had fallen to me. 
