The pursuers’ plan was formed at once: they would waylay him at the gap and seize him as he passed. A hedge with a ditch on its further side ran up the hill. At their utmost speed the two foxes galloped along the ditch, gained the crest and reached the gap whilst the unsuspecting prey was yet a dozen yards from it. The fate of the hare was apparently sealed. But Grey Fox was not content to trust his ears to apprise him of the hare’s approach; in his eagerness he could not resist peeping round the corner. This betrayed him: the hare saw his long snout, turned and made down the hill, the breathless foxes following as fast as they could. In the descent the hare gained quite a good lead, but it seemed all to no purpose, for his line of flight was leading him directly towards a quarry which cut off all escape. Yet on he galloped straight to the brink, and reaching it, leapt headlong into the great drift that rose half-way up its sheer wall. The foxes checked themselves on the very verge and stood gazing at the snow marked by the cleanly-cut hole made by the hare as he fell. “Done after all,” was the meaning of the expression on Grey Fox’s mask. But he was not to be thus deprived of his prey if search could avail, and to this end he and the vixen made their way down to the base of the quarry and were lost to sight in the drift as they worked towards the spot where they expected to find the hare lying dead. Far from being dead, however, he was not even disabled; indeed he was none the worse for his dive, the snow having completely broken his fall. On feeling the ground beneath his pads he moved forward, and had advanced some twelve yards when he found himself confronted by the huge heap of loose rock which the quarrymen had piled there. It barred his way, threatening to prevent his escape, until presently he found a small opening, and through it squeezed to a narrow tunnel-like passage which led to a chamber littered with the remains of rabbits, mice, eels, and frogs. It was a polecat’s den—the den, indeed, of the polecat that had chased him, the den where she and her kittens had slept after the pursuit. He crossed the foul lair and tried to pass through the narrow space between two rocks on the farther side. This looked like courting destruction, for he ran the risk of being jammed and unable to extricate himself; but he could hear the foxes behind him; he must go that way or perish. With a struggle he forced his head and shoulders through; then he was fixed, he could not clear his hindquarters, tug and strain as he might. As he stopped to recover his breath, he caught the patter of his pursuers’ pads: they were approaching the den: in a few seconds Grey Fox’s jaws would close on him and the rocks ring with his death squeal. Frantic with fear, maddened by dread of his fate, he made a frenzied effort and just managed to pull his long hind legs through before Grey Fox could seize them.