“For a month, if we can but hunt, yard by yard, inch by inch,” said the old hound, with fixed determination expressed in his proudly erected head and lashing stern.
“You’ve got some manœuvre or artful dodge in store for him, I know,” I remarked.
“I have,” responded my companion, “and you shall not only hear what it is, but shall join in the scheme. As I told you a short time since, most foxes hang in cover as long as they dare or can. It is their nature to screen themselves as much as possible, and they face the open only when compelled and pressed. A fox that has been often hunted, however, is of course more shy than one who has not, and the devil’s own, having invariably met with a precious rattling whenever he attempted to thread the covers, never hangs fire now, but sweeps straight through them. In order to be on good terms with him, therefore, we must act in the same manner, and to lose no precious second of time, remember, that the moment we reach a cover, the chances are a hundred to one that he is already through. If not, we shall instantly know that the pull is in our favour by his hanging, for, if it was not for the general rule of foxes hanging in covers, they would serve us, in nineteen cases out of twenty, as the devil’s own does, and run us clean out of all scent.”
“Being so crafty,” returned I, “I’m surprised that they don’t depend more upon that which would save them, their speed.”
“The reason is this,” added Trimbush. “Although much faster than we are, and with power of equal endurance, they cannot bear the heat of the day as well as we can. It should be recollected also, that we have rested the night before, and commence our work with empty bellies in the morning; but the fox has been on the pad foraging for food when we were asleep, and, perhaps, is gorged at the moment we unkennel him. He, therefore, feels himself in no condition for racing, and tries all his cunning to elude us in preference to facing the open. I don’t know,” continued he, “how the devil’s own regulates his meals; but I fancy he must sup early, and go to bed long before cock-crow.”
At this moment Will Sykes glanced round, and hallooed, “Give them more room, Ned, and let them empty themselves.”
“Ay, ay,” replied Ned, checking his horse to leave greater space between himself and the huntsman.
“That’s right,” observed Trimbush. “There should always be plenty of room between the second whip and the huntsman, so that we may not be hurried when we want to stop.”
“Then you intend,” said I, resuming the subject, “then you intend——”
“To fly straight to the farthest end, or opposite side of every cover he points for,” interrupted he, “and especially the moment we are thrown into Berry brake, in order to be on good terms with him at the burst. It’s our only chance,” continued the old hound, “and if he beats us to-day, with the ground in the order that it is, and this mild velvety wind, hang me if I shall have any hope of breaking up the devil’s own.”