Sometimes when
the brush was thick, the sight of him would be indistinct. The shooting
had to be quick. As soon as the report of the gun was heard, the hounds
ceased to bay, and made for the spot. If the fox was dead, they enjoyed
the scent of his blood. If only wounded, they went after him with all
speed.
"Sometimes he was overtaken and killed, and sometimes he got into his
burrow in the earth, or in a hollow log, or among the rocks.
"One day, I remember, when I was standing on the outside of the circle,
the fox came in sight. I fired. He gave a shrill bark, and came toward
me. Then he stopped in the snow and fell dead in his tracks. I was a
pretty good shot in those days."
"Poor little fox," said Miss Laura. "I wish you had let him get away."
"Here's one that nearly got away," said Mr. Wood. "One winter's day, I
was chasing him with the hounds. There was a crust on the snow, and the
fox was light, while the dogs were heavy. They ran along, the fox
trotting nimbly on the top of the crust and the dogs breaking through,
and every few minutes that fox would stop and sit down to look at the
dogs. They were in a fury, and the wickedness of the fox in teasing
them, made me laugh so much that I was very unwilling to shoot him.
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