This spurt amazed the foxes, for they imagined the hare to be failing, and they would have been still more amazed had they known how he was using his advantage. He did not keep on as the foxes themselves would have done, for that he thought would only prolong the chase, whereas his intention was to put an end to it. So just over the ridge he leapt from rock to rock and back again, then to the great slab that looks like a vast table amidst the furze, and finally into the furze itself, into which he flung himself just in the nick of time, the bushes closing over him as Grey Fox appeared on the apex of the Beacon. With swift glances Reynard swept the hillside, but not a spray stirred to mark the line along which their escaping prey was stealing towards the foot of the hill; forthwith he and his mate, who had now come up, stooped again to the scent with the object of following the trail. But the hare had succeeded in foiling his line; they immediately discovered the hopelessness of the task, and both returned to the high rock conscious that their only chance lay in sighting the hare as he left the hill. Their movements had been as quick as lightning, so quick that not more than ten seconds had passed since Grey Fox gained the Beacon. How his flanks heaved, how quick the breath came from him, yet despite distress of lung and agony of lacerated pads that stained the snow with blood, his one thought was for the game; he did not waste a glance on the lanterns[7] illuminating the church tower, he was deaf to the carol-singers, all his senses were in the eyes that watched every opening between the bushes, every avenue of escape. Suddenly, they—for the vixen was at his side—sighted the hare as it crossed the bridge far below. Instantly they were off. Twice Grey Fox tumbled head over heels in his mad haste, but the shaking made no difference to him: there was no slackening in the speed with which he led along the trail which presently recrossed the stream to a plantation. Here, in their excitement, first he then the vixen gave tongue on the scent. Their sharp yaps fell like a death-knell on the ears of the hare, who, believing the pursuit was at an end, was loping leisurely along the bank of the stream. For a moment his heart sank within him, but only for a moment; the next he pulled himself together and redoubled his pace, the thought of being seized and gobbled up by Grey Fox acting like a spur on his flagging energies. At a bound he again recrossed the stream, sped across the slope of the opposite hill in full view of the foxes and headed for a gap at the top.