ly that the dog immediately let go
again: so that was all poor Fecske got.

And now the fox, with all his might, made straight for the Berettyo. The
crafty old fellow had succeeded in checkmating all his pursuers and
reaching his lurking-place. The hounds were now far behind him.

But now old Matyi, the wolf-grey, solitary foxhound, came to the front,
and showed what he could do. Hitherto he had not very much exerted
himself, but had let the others do what they could. He knew very well
that a single dog would never catch this fox--nay, two and even three
would be no match for him. It was an old fox, and they knew each other,
for they had often come across each other here and there. Now then, let
him show his enemy what he was made of.

Again the fox practised his old wiles, darting aside, crouching down,
gnashing his teeth: all in vain--he had now to do with a practised foe.
If only Squire John could now have seen it all! Ask an enthusiastic
fox-hunter how much he would have given for such a sight?

And now the fox stopped short again in mid career, and crouched down;
but Matyi did not leap over him as the flighty Armida had done, but, as
the fox turned towards him with gnashing teeth, he snapped suddenly at
him from the opposite side like lightning, and in that instant all that
one could see was the fox turning a somersault in the air. Matyi,
seizing him by the neck had, in fact, tossed him up, and scarcely had he
reached the ground again when he was seized again by the skin of his
back, well shaken, and then released. Let him run a little bit longer,
if he likes!

"Bravo, Matyi! bravo!" shouted everybody present.

This exclamation encouraged Matyi to show the spectators fresh specimens
of his skill. By a series of masterly manoeuvres he turned the fox back
towards the hunters, in order that they might the better see him mount
head over heels into the air again. He never held the dangerous beast in
his jaws for more than one moment, for he knew that in the next the fox
could seize him, and dogs have their own peculiar ideas of a fox's grip,
for it is the bite of all other bites they like the least. He contented
himself therefore with harrying and worrying him as much as possible
without coming to too close quarters till he should have succeeded in
wearing him out. The fox no longer defended himself, but simply ran
straight on, limping and stumbling on three legs. Every one fancied that
it was now all up with him,