“Call them off,” said Mr. Carteret, straightening his hat.
“But I can’t catch ’em,” said Grady, and that was the truth.
Lord Ploversdale, however, had been gaining on the Indians, and by the way in which he clubbed his heavy crop, loaded at the butt, it was apparent that he meant to put an end to the proceedings if he could.
Just then hounds swept over the crest of a green hill and as they went down the other side, they viewed the fox in the field beyond. He was in distress, and it looked as if the pack would kill in the open. They were running wonderfully together, the traditional blanket would have covered them, and in the natural glow of pride which came over the M. F. H., he loosened his grip upon the crop. But as the hounds viewed the fox so did the three sons of the wilderness who were following close behind. From the hilltop fifty of the hardest going men in England saw Hole-in-the-Ground flogging his horse with the heavy quirt which hung from his wrist. The outraged British hunter shot forward scattering hounds to right and left, flew a ditch and hedge and was close on the fox who had stopped to make a last stand. Without drawing rein, the astonished onlookers saw the lean Indian suddenly disappear under the neck of his horse and almost instantly swing back into his seat waving a brown thing above his head. Hole-in-the-Ground had caught the fox!
“Most unprecedented!” Mr. Carteret heard the Major exclaim. He pulled up his horse, as the field did theirs, and waited apprehensively. He saw Hole-in-the-Ground circle around, jerk the Major’s five hundred guinea hunter to a standstill close to Lord Ploversdale and address him. He was speaking in his own language.
As the Chief went on, he saw Grady smile.
“He says,” said Grady translating, “that the white chief can eat the fox if he wants him. He’s proud himself bein’ packed with store grub.”
The English onlookers heard and beheld with blank faces. It was beyond them.