l of one, when it would so manoeuvre that the hound would
invariably be switched off on the second track.

In cold, dry weather the fox will sometimes elude the hound, at least
delay him much, by taking to a bare, ploughed field. The hard, dry earth
seems not to retain a particle of the scent, and the hound gives a loud,
long, peculiar bark, to signify he has trouble. It is now his turn to
show his wit, which he often does by passing completely around the
field, and resuming the trail again where it crosses the fence or a
strip of snow.

The fact that any dry, hard surface is unfavorable to the hound
suggests, in a measure, the explanation of the wonderful faculty that
all dogs in a degree possess of tracking an animal by the scent of the
foot alone. Did you ever think why a dog's nose is always wet? Examine
the nose of a fox-hound, for instance; how very moist and sensitive!
Cause this moisture to dry up, and the dog would be as powerless to
track an animal as you are! The nose of the cat, you may observe, is
but a little moist, and, as you know, her sense of smell is far inferior
to that of the dog. Moisten your own nostrils and lips, and this sense
is plainly sharpened. The sweat of a dog's nose, therefore, is no doubt
a vital element in its power, and, without taking a very long logical
stride, we may infer how a damp, rough surface aids him in tracking
game.

A still hunt rarely brings you in sight of a fox, as his ears are much
sharper than yours, and his tread much lighter. But if the fox is
mousing in the fields, and you discover him before he does you, you may,
the wind favoring, call him within a few paces of you. Secrete yourself
behind the fence, or some other object, and squeak as nearly like a
mouse as possible. Reynard will hear the sound at an incredible
distance. Pricking up his ears, he gets the direction, and comes
trotting along as unsuspiciously as can be. I have never had an
opportunity to try the experiment, but I know perfectly reliable persons
who have. One man, in the pasture getting his cows, called a fox which
was too busy mousing to get the first sight, till it jumped upon the
wall just over where he sat secreted. He then sprang up, giving a loud
whoop at the same time, and the fox, I suspect, came as near being
frightened out of his skin as a fox ever was.

I have never been able to see clearly why the mother fox generally
selects a burrow or hole in the open field in which to have her