The mysterious and apparently illimitable scenting power possessed by the bloodhound appeals to the imagination of the criminal classes to an extraordinary extent. From what I have gathered of the subject, I cannot help feeling that no police station of any size should be without a couple of trained hounds. The fear of the "cat" is proverbial. Utilise the bloodhound, and a far greater deterrent against crime will have been found.
Some time since the subject once more engaged further attention, and it was decided to organise a series of private trials in connection with The Harmsworth Magazine, with a view to determining the real capability of the hound for hunting man. The next thing was to procure hounds of the purest breed. At this stage we put ourselves into communication with Mr. Edwin Brough, of Wyndyate, near Scarborough.
Mr. Brough has been a breeder of bloodhounds for something like thirty years. He is regarded as the highest living authority on the breed. He is the winner of over 400 first and champion prizes for hounds of his own breeding, and he may be aptly described the creator of the splendid type of hound we have to-day.
Mr. Brough received my suggestion in a sporting manner, and with characteristic generosity offered me every facility in the most difficult and patience-racking task of obtaining the photographs which accompany this article. His hounds are his best friends, and he is willing to go to almost any lengths in order to correct the innumerable absurd ideas that are prevalent with regard to the breed.
BABBO—THE FAMOUS TRACKER OF HUMAN BEINGS.
Accordingly a short time since a small two-man expedition, equipped with a camera and an unlimited stock of patience, set out for Scarborough.
Early on the following morning I took part in my first manhunt, and a weirdly fascinating experience it was in all conscience—harmless enough, in spite of its sanguinary title.
At the back of Mr. Brough's house are spacious kennels. Here we found thirty or forty valuable hounds, gazing from behind the iron bars of their kennel runs, each handsome and well groomed, the black and fawn coat glistening like velvet; each a perfect type, with handsome expressive face, and pedigree long enough to turn many a human being pale with envy. The kennel man opened two of the doors, and we trudged down the drive and out on to the fields by the cliff-side with four magnificent hounds at our heels.
A soft green undulation in the countryside, sloping into a wooded valley, was chosen for our first trial, and standing at a gate on the summit I had an uninterrupted view of the whole run.