“You’ve no cunning in ye yet,” replied Trimbush, “or you wouldn’t ask such a simple question. However, so much the better. Craft in the young is unwholesome; while, if the old don’t possess some, they have lived too long unprofitably. Now, we have no time to stop, and if we had we could do nothing with the scent on this hard, dry road: but having found our fox _up_ wind, and as he turned _down_ upon breaking cover, I know that he will _not_ turn again. We have, therefore, but to make our own cast good one way; and then, in the event of not being able to hit it off, to try the other to be certain of getting on the line--unless, indeed, he should chance to head short back, which not one fox out of a hundred will do, unless it is to die.” “But we shall have no chance of making a cast,” said I, “with Ned at our sterns.” “I know the point he’s making for,” returned my friend; “and if we once get clear of this everlasting lane on to the scrubs, I’ll forgive Ned if he stops us this time. I _do_ like,” continued he, “a run o’ this kind. There’s a spice about anything stolen.” Upon coming to a sudden turn in the road, Trimbush all but stood still at seeing a flock of sheep in our way; who, upon our nearing them, began scampering before us, and became wedged together like one solid body. “The devil!” exclaimed my companion, making an ineffectual effort to reach the edge of the steep bank, and reeling almost over in the attempt. “No matter,” continued he, as springing upon his feet, and rushing forwards, he galloped along the backs of the scared flock; and, following his example, we cleared the impediment, and found ourselves on the right side of a great obstacle to our pursuer, Ned Adams. “Now we’re all right,” said Trimbush, exultingly; “and we shall have it to ourselves in spite of ’em.” The long twisting and twining lane led on to an open heath or sheep-walk, covered here and there with patches of broom, furze, and dwarf blackberry bushes. “We’ll first try down wind to the right,” said Trimbush; “for although Will Sykes very often takes us just the other way, so as to make sure the varmint hasn’t given us the artful dodge by slipping back on his foil, it’s a bad cast except with a beaten fox, and generally widens the distance between us and him. Always,” continued the old hound, stooping his muzzle to the ground as he trotted cautiously along, “try the way first you think he’s gone; and, having made that good, it’s quite time enough to take the other.” On coming to some sloping, moist ground, Trimbush stopped, and, feathering for a moment, threw up his head and made the air ring with melody as he hit off the scent again. “We are all right,” said he, exultingly. “We’ll either kill or burst him to earth.” I could now wind the varmint with my head stretched in the air; and it was as easy hunting as a bagman sprinkled with aniseed.