In this way he followed the crooked course until the close of the day, carrying a trail for thirteen hours, which the fox had passed at no point less than ten hours before, following it, too, more than three hours after the best and most renowned dogs ever in Ohio were silent. It was now dusk, the timber sparse and logs few, making the chances seemingly more unfavorable. So, the hunters who had been on the go for fifteen hours, and without the substantials of life for twenty-four hours, concluded to quit, and, calling the dogs to follow, turned in the direction of the by-path leading toward home. All the dogs were very ready to obey, excepting Gamer, who only stopped for a moment to gaze at his retreating masters, and then resumed his work, in which he became more and more interested as the day passed on. It was thought, however, he would soon quit and overtake his companions but, before the hunters had gone a mile, Gamer’s starting cry was heard; he had winded Reynard where he had stopped to spend the day high up the mountain side. Every hound knew it was no cry on a cold trail, and turned and went off at the top of their speed. Soon Gamer could be heard over ridges and hills far away; and the hunters, thinking the run would be made in the broken mountains, went home. A squirrel hunter in that vicinity, who obtained Reynard’s “brush,” reported the fox so closely pressed, that he soon doubled, came back, and entered a hollow log near his cabin, and was captured. The time given showed the run was finished in less than an hour after the hunters left. [Illustration: Our Cabin, 1821.]