II

Morning came, and with it Uncle Plato's bugle call. Aunt Patience was

ready with a smoking hot breakfast, and everybody was in fine spirits.

As the eager, happy crowd filed down the broad avenue that led to the

hall, the fair de Compton, who had been delayed in mounting, rode by my

side.

"You choose your escort well," I ventured to say.

"I have a weakness for children," she replied; "particularly for

children who know what they are about. Plato has told me that if I

desired to see all of the hunt without much trouble, to follow you. I am

selfish, you perceive."

We rode over the red hills and under the russet trees until we came to

"Old Sandy's" favorite haunt. Here a council of war was held, and it was

decided that Tom and a portion of the hunters should skirt the fields,

while another portion led by Miss de Compton and myself should enter and

bid the fox good morning. Uncle Plato, who had been given the cue,

followed me with the dogs, and in a few moments we were very near the

particular spot where I hoped to find the venerable deceiver of dogs and

men. The hounds were already sallying hither and thither, anxious and

evidently expectant.

Five minutes went by without a whimper from the pack. There was not a

sound save the eager rustling of the dogs through the sedge and

undergrowth. The ground was familiar to Flora, and I watched her with

pride as with powerful strides she circled around. Suddenly she paused

and flung her head in the air, making a beautiful picture where she

stood poised, as if listening. My heart gave a great thump. It was a

trick of hers, and I knew that "Old Sandy" had been around within the

past twenty-four hours! With a rush, a bound, and an eager cry, my

favorite came toward us, and the next moment "Old Sandy," who had been

lying almost at our horses' feet, was up and away with Flora right at

his heels. A wild hope seized me that my favorite would run into the shy

veteran before he could get out of the field. But no! One of the Jasper

county hunters, rendered momentarily insane by excitement, endeavored to

ride the fox down with his horse, and in another moment Sir Reynard was

over the fence and into the woodland beyond, followed by the hounds.

They made a splendid but [v]ineffectual burst of speed, for when "Old

Sandy" found himself upon the blackjack hills he was foot-loose. The

morning, however, was fine--just damp enough to leave the scent of the

fox hanging breast high in the air, whether he shaped his course over

lowlands or highlands.

[Illustration: The Beginning of the Fox Hunt]

In the midst of all the confusion that had ensued, Miss de Compton

remained cool, serene, and apparently indifferent, but I observed a

glow upon her face and a sparkle in her eyes, as Tom Tunison, riding his

gallant gray and heading the hunters, easily and gracefully took a

couple of fences when the hounds veered to the left.

"Our Jasper county friend has saved 'Old Sandy,' Miss de Compton," I

said, "but he has given us an opportunity of witnessing some very fine

sport. The fox is so badly frightened that he may endeavor in the

beginning to outfoot the dogs, but in the end he will return to his

range, and then I hope to show you what a cunning old customer he is. If

Flora doesn't fail us at the critical moment, you will have the honor of

wearing his brush on your saddle."

"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.

"Upon my word!" exclaimed Miss de Compton; "that fox ought to go free. I

shall beg Mr. Tunison--"

But before she finished her sentence the dogs came into view, and I

could hardly restrain a shout of triumph as I saw Flora running easily

and unerringly far to the front. Behind her, led by Captain--and so

close together that, as Uncle Plato afterward remarked, "You mout kivver

de whole caboodle wid a hoss-blanket"--were the remainder of the Tunison

kennel, while the Jasper county hounds were strung out behind in wild

but heroic confusion. I felt strongly tempted to give the view-halloo,

and push "Old Sandy" to the wall at once, but I knew that the fair de

Compton would regard the exploit with severe [v]reprobation forever

after. Across the ravine and to the fence the dogs came, their voices,

as they got nearer, crashing through the silence like a chorus of

demons.

Now was the critical moment. If Flora should fail me--!

Several of the older dogs topped the rails, and scattered through the

undergrowth. Flora came over with them, made a small circle, with her

sensitive nose to the damp earth, and then went rushing down the fence.

Past the point where "Old Sandy" took his flying leap she ran, turned

suddenly to the left, and came swooping back in a wide circle. I had

barely time to warn Miss de Compton that she must prepare to do a little

rapid riding, when my favorite, with a fierce cry of delight that

thrilled me through and through, picked up the blazing [v]drag, and away

we went with a scream and a shout. I felt in my very bones that "Old

Sandy" was doomed. I had never seen Flora so prompt and eager; I had

never observed the scent to be better. Everything was auspicious.

We went like the wind. Miss de Compton rode well, and the long stretches

of stubble land through which the chase led were unbroken by ditch or

fence. The pace of the hounds was simply terrific, and I knew that no

fox on earth could long stand up before the white demon that led the

hunt with such splendor.

Five--ten--fifteen minutes we rushed at the heels of the rearmost dogs,

until, suddenly, we found ourselves in the midst of the pack. The scent

was lost! Flora ran about in wide circles, followed by the greater

portion of the dogs. To the left, to the right they went. At that

moment, chancing to look back, I caught a glimpse of "Old Sandy," broken

down and bedraggled, making his way toward a clump of briars. He had

played his last [v]trump and lost. Pushed by the dogs, he had dropped in

his tracks and literally allowed them to run over him. I rode at him

with a shout; there was a short, sharp race, and in a few moments [v]_La

Mort_ was sounded over the famous fox on the horn that the Jasper county

boys did not win.