His Last Nibble
I was startled out of my contemplation by the sound of the old dog giving tongue, and the bang of the musket echoing in the tree-tops. Listening, I could hear the dogs baying on the trail some distance from where the shot was fired,—plainly a clean miss. In a short time the language of the hound again announced “Holed,” and the gathering of the heartless around the spot told the same old story. At my suggestion, “Give the rabbit a chance,” the dog was removed from the hole, when out popped the rabbit. The dog in hot pursuit soon overtook him, but failed to pick him up. Twice the little fellow fooled the dog, but the third time his doom was sealed. The dog returned with the rabbit kicking in his mouth, and laid it at the feet of his master as a trophy worthy of the chase, occasionally nosing it to see if any life remained. Truly this cannot be sport.
In Hot Pursuit
Picked Up
Crossing the hill we caught a view from the distance of a beautiful meadow flanked on one side by an old orchard, which long needed pruning and was grown up with blackberry briers. On the other side was a thicket of locust, sumac, and elder, which had been cleared several years before and the debris piled on the stone heaps ready for the match that had never been applied. Here and there were stretches of stake and rider fence; in fact, it was an old farm neglected for many years owing to the death of the owner and continued litigation among the heirs for the possession of the land,—an ideal home for the cottontail.
Crossing the meadow the dogs started a rabbit which had been basking in the sun, coiled up in a bed built in the middle of a bunch of dry swamp grass. The little fellow had remained perfectly quiet, although one of the party passed within two feet without seeing him, so well did his color harmonize with the surroundings. He remained unobserved until one of the dogs passing by started him and warned the other dogs, whereupon away they went in full chase. Through the orchard, down along the old fence, sped the fugitive, the dogs close behind, tonguing at every jump. Into the thicket he plunged, safe for the time being. The dogs began to circle, caught the trail on the opposite side, and followed it into another cover, where Bunny squatted and presently we saw him returning on his own trail. I made a run to head him off so that I could get a snap-shot, but observing me he stopped in the middle of a wheat field. In the meantime the dogs had gathered enough information and were working their way back over the track until the leader came on to him, and away they went. The quarry returned towards the other dogs and was picked up before cover could be reached.