and
there, roaming that country-side for hours at a stretch, he would
hunt; only occasionally killing to eat, and for the greater part of
his time hunting for the sheer pleasure of it. For so great a
hound, he became wonderfully adept and cunning in the pursuit of
the small creatures of the open; stalking them as silently,
cautiously, and surely as a cat, and acquiring, day by day, more
and more of that most distinguishing characteristic of the wild
creatures: indomitable patience. Great fleetness and great strength
were his by birth; tireless patience and cunning he learned in
these lonely days beside the Sussex Downs; and learned them so well
that his silent, shadowy great form became a very real terror to
all the wild things of that district. There was, of course, no
creature among them that could attempt for an instant to meet Finn
in open combat; and as time went on, there were few who could
successfully pit their cunning and their agility against those of
the great hound.

There was one wild creature, however, in this district, who grew to
know Finn well, and to fear him not at all; and this was a large
male fox, born and bred in a copse not half a mile from Finn's
home. To this strong and cunning fox, Finn appeared in the light of
a provider of good things, and for long he waxed fat and lazy upon
Finn's numerous kills, without the Wolfhound ever having suspected
his existence. Then, late one autumn afternoon, Finn saw Reynard
descend from a little wooded hillock and seize upon the half of a
rabbit which the Wolfhound had left lying there in the valley,
beside a little brook, where he had killed it. Like a flash, Finn
wheeled and gave chase; but the fox disdained even to drop his
prize, and, by reason rather of his superior woodcraft, and his
knowledge of every leaf and twig in that country-side, than of his
fleetness, Reynard was the winner of the long race that followed.

This interested Finn more than anything that had happened for a
long while. His trailing faculties, though they had been greatly
developed of late, were nothing like so keen as those of a
foxhound, or a pointer, or a setter; his race having always done
their hunting by sight and sheer fleetness. But, as against that,
the big fox had grown very lazy of late. He had done practically no
hunting at all, preferring to trail Finn on his hunting
expeditions, and fare sumptuously upon Finn's leavings. As it
happened, this particular fox had never