“Youth is always confident,” replied Miss de Compton.
“In this instance, however, I have the advantage of knowing both hound and fox. Flora has a few weaknesses, but I think she understands what is expected of her to-day.”
Thus bantering and chaffing each other, we turned our horses’ heads in a direction [v]oblique to that taken by the other hunters, who, with the exception of Tom Tunison and Jack Herndon, now well up with the dogs, were struggling along as best they could. For a half mile or more we cantered down a lane, then turned into a stubble field, and made for a hill crowned and skirted by a growth of blackjack, through which an occasional pine had broken, as it seemed, in a vain but noble effort to touch the sky. Once upon the summit of the hills, we had a majestic view upon all sides. The fresh morning breezes blew crisp and cool and bracing, but were not uncomfortable after the exercise we had taken; and as the clouds that had muffled up the east dispersed themselves or were dissolved, the generous sun spread layer upon layer of golden light upon hill and valley and forest and stream.
Away to the left we could hear the hounds, and the music of their voices, toyed with by the playful wind, rolled itself into melodious little echoes that broke pleasantly upon the ear, now loud, now faint, now far and now near. The first burst of speed, which had been terrific, had settled down into a steady run, but I knew by the sound that the pace was still tremendous, and I imagined I could hear the silvery tongue of Flora as she led the eager pack. The cries of the hounds, however, grew fainter and fainter, until presently they were lost in the distance.
“He is making a straight shoot for the Turner [v]old fields, two miles away,” I remarked, by way of explanation.
“And pray, why are we here?” Miss de Compton asked.
“To be in at the death. (The fair de Compton smiled [v]sarcastically.) In the Turner old fields the fox will make his grand double, gain upon the dogs, head for yonder hill, and come down the ravine upon our right. At the fence here, within plain view, he will attempt a trick that has heretofore always been successful, and which has given him a reputation as a trained fox. I depend upon the intelligence of Flora to see through ‘Old Sandy’s’ [v]strategy, but if she hesitates a moment, we must set her right.”
I spoke with the confidence of one having experience, and Miss de Compton smiled and was content. We had little time for further conversation, for in a few minutes I observed a dark shadow emerge from the undergrowth on the opposite hill and slip quickly across the open space of fallow land. It crossed the ravine that intersected the valley, stole quietly through the stubble to the fence, and there paused a moment, as if hesitating. In a low voice I called Miss de Compton’s attention to the figure, but she refused to believe that it was the same fox we had aroused thirty minutes before. Howbeit, it was the [v]veritable “Old Sandy” himself. I should have known him among a thousand foxes. He was not in as fine feather as when, at the start, he had swung his brush across Flora’s nose—the pace had told on him—but he still moved with an air of confidence.
Then and there Miss de Compton beheld a display of fox tactics shrewd enough to excite the admiration of the most indifferent—a display of cunning that seemed to be something higher than instinct.
“Old Sandy” paused only a moment. With a bound he gained the top of the fence, stopped to pull something from one of his fore feet—probably a cockle bur—and then carefully balancing himself, proceeded to walk the fence. By this time, the music of the dogs was again heard in the distance, but “Old Sandy” took his time. One—two—three—seven—ten—twenty panels of the fence were cleared. Pausing, he again subjected his fore feet to examination, and licked them carefully. Then he proceeded on his journey along the fence until he was at least one hundred yards from where he left the ground. Here he paused for the first time, gathered himself together, leaped through the air, and rushed away. As he did so, the full note of the pack burst upon our ears as the hounds reached the brow of the hill from the lowlands on the other side.