In the Catskills | Page 4

determine the course of the dog and choose my position,--stimulated by
the ambition of all young Nimrods to bag some notable game. Long I
waited, and patiently, till, chilled and benumbed, I was about to turn
back, when, hearing a slight noise, I looked up and beheld a most
superb fox, loping along with inimitable grace and ease, evidently
disturbed, but not pursued by the hound, and so absorbed in his private
meditations that he failed to see me, though I stood transfixed with
amazement and admiration, not ten yards distant. I took his measure at
a glance,--a large male, with dark legs, and massive tail tipped with
white,--a most magnificent creature; but so astonished and fascinated
was I by this sudden appearance and matchless beauty, that not till I
had caught the last glimpse of him, as he disappeared over a knoll, did I
awake to my duty as a sportsman, and realize what an opportunity to
distinguish myself I had unconsciously let slip. I clutched my gun, half
angrily, as if it was to blame, and went home out of humor with myself
and all fox-kind. But I have since thought better of the experience, and
concluded that I bagged the game after all, the best part of it, and
fleeced Reynard of something more valuable than his fur, without his
knowledge.
This is thoroughly a winter sound,--this voice of the hound upon the
mountain,--and one that is music to many ears. The long trumpet-like
bay, heard for a mile or more,--now faintly back in the deep recesses of
the mountain,--now distinct, but still faint, as the hound comes over
some prominent point and the wind favors,--anon entirely lost in the
gully,--then breaking out again much nearer, and growing more and
more pronounced as the dog approaches, till, when he comes around
the brow of the mountain, directly above you, the barking is loud and
sharp. On he goes along the northern spur, his voice rising and sinking
as the wind and the lay of the ground modify it, till lost to hearing.
The fox usually keeps half a mile ahead, regulating his speed by that of
the hound, occasionally pausing a moment to divert himself with a
mouse, or to contemplate the landscape, or to listen for his pursuer. If

the hound press him too closely, he leads off from mountain to
mountain, and so generally escapes the hunter; but if the pursuit be
slow, he plays about some ridge or peak, and falls a prey, though not an
easy one, to the experienced sportsman.
A most spirited and exciting chase occurs when the farm-dog gets close
upon one in the open field, as sometimes happens in the early morning.
The fox relies so confidently upon his superior speed, that I imagine he
half tempts the dog to the race. But if the dog be a smart one, and their
course lies down-hill, over smooth ground, Reynard must put his best
foot forward, and then sometimes suffer the ignominy of being run over
by his pursuer, who, however, is quite unable to pick him up, owing to
the speed. But when they mount the hill, or enter the woods, the
superior nimbleness and agility of the fox tell at once, and he easily
leaves the dog far in his rear. For a cur less than his own size he
manifests little fear, especially if the two meet alone, remote from the
house. In such cases, I have seen first one turn tail, then the other.
A novel spectacle often occurs in summer, when the female has young.
You are rambling on the mountain, accompanied by your dog, when
you are startled by that wild, half-threatening squall, and in a moment
perceive your dog, with inverted tail, and shame and confusion in his
looks, sneaking toward you, the old fox but a few rods in his rear. You
speak to him sharply, when he bristles up, turns about, and, barking,
starts off vigorously, as if to wipe out the dishonor; but in a moment
comes sneaking back more abashed than ever, and owns himself
unworthy to be called a dog. The fox fairly shames him out of the
woods. The secret of the matter is her sex, though her conduct, for the
honor of the fox be it said, seems to be prompted only by solicitude for
the safety of her young.
One of the most notable features of the fox is his large and massive tail.
Seen running on the snow at a distance, his tail is quite as conspicuous
as his body; and, so far from appearing a burden, seems to contribute to
his lightness and buoyancy. It softens the outline of his movements,
and repeats or continues to the eye the ease and poise of his