“His point was Gretwith rock, as I thought long since,” replied the old hound; “but he can’t live the distance. He has now turned short to run up wind, which proves him to be a sinking one, and if he reaches Quaffam wood it is as much as he can do.” Seeing that Trimbush was serious, this sage opinion lent fresh aid to our flagging energies, and the skeleton of his force, comprising only Dashwood, Wildboy, and myself, answered his cheer by redoubling our efforts to run into the devil’s own. The wood which Trimbush spoke of now appeared at the bottom of a deep valley, and into the underbush we dashed, confident that the fox must hang, and also in the hope that he would not live to leave it. I had no sooner, however, entered the cover than, losing the cool refreshing wind at my nostrils, I fell to the ground, faint and breathless; but every effort proved fruitless; and crouching behind the trunk of a large tree, I was obliged to remain stationary sorely against my will. For a few minutes I heard my companions driving the devil’s own to the furthest end of the cover from where I laid, and then, as their cry approached, I knew they had headed him towards me. Putting my head close to the ground, I saw the fox creeping along with his back up, scarcely able to crawl. His tongue was drooping from his jaws, and his brush dragged along as if there was not strength enough in him even to lift that. Every now and then he stopped and turned his head, and, not perceiving me, continued to near the spot where I laid. Close and closer he came, and, at length, coming within springing distance, I made an effort which surprised myself, and fastened my teeth right across the middle of his loins before he had a chance of knowing from what quarter he was attacked. Catching me by the ear, however, he gave me a dying grip which made me remember the length of his teeth and the strength of his jaws for some time to come, and he had not unlocked them, before Trimbush, Dashwood, and Loyalty came to my assistance, and quickly put an end to the struggle. “We’ll break him up presently,” gasped Trimbush. “Let’s get a sob or two of wind first,” and forming a circle round the lifeless carcase of the devil’s own, we lay stretched upon the ground, panting and beaten to a crawl. At this moment something crashing through the brushwood was heard, and soon afterwards a labouring man came running up, and seizing the fox, lifted him above his head, and “who-whooped” most lustily. He then drew a great clasped knife from a sheath, and cut off the head, brush, and pads of the devil’s own. “Ah!” said he, “I heard ye, and thought there was something up more than common. I can guess all about it. You’ve beaten every one o’ the field, and tailed off all the rest o’ the pack.” “You’re right enough, old fellow,” observed Trimbush, “and I wish you could understand me as well as I can you. But what the deuce are ye about with the fox?”