We use Optical Character Recognition (OCR) during our scanning and processing workflow to make the content of each page searchable. You can view the automatically generated text below as well as copy and paste individual pieces of text to quote in your own work.
Text recognition is never 100% accurate. Many parts of the scanned page may not be reflected in the OCR text output, including: images, page layout, certain fonts or handwriting.
FOX HUNT IN THE OZARKS
33
happened over beyond the next ridge : "Old Rock jumped that fox about two miles back, on the Preacher and the Bear place. I have an idee they ran this way and that way, and all but flew across the Vaughn place and down the creek until they hit back agin onto Lost Ranch."
We make no attempt to follow the dogs, for this is strictly a dog and fox race. Men take no part, other than to get together and follow the dogs by sound. Only in actual fur season do the men follow the dogs, so they may get the fur. Tonight is merely the opening chase.
"By Jollies, it's a'red'un!" Lee yells proudly.
"How can you tell, at this distance?" I ask skeptically.
"Well now, Miz Donnelson, I can tell— and the dogs can tell. Them there dogs is a-makin' a straight run; so I know they've got a red fox. If it was a gray fox — well, a gray fox won't take a long, straight run. They'll circle. That's how us fox hunters always know whether we got a red or a gray fox; we can tell by the way he leads out.
"Nother thing. A gray fox never takes a hound out of hearing. If the dogs git after a gray fox and he don't get under a rock; he's a gone goslin; they'll soon run him down. But a red fox will take out across country, seekin'
a stream of water. If he finds it, then he'll go up-stream and lose the dogs. When a gray fox begins to circle, and the circle gits smaller and smaller, then the chase narrows down. The dogs can tell it's about all over — and so can we."
Dogs and fox come through the timber in full view. Through the moonlight, we catch a flash as they race by, within fifty feet of where we are standing beside the dogwagon.
"Listen to Old Mix a-crowdin' Oscar," a Smith says softly, as the chase roars by. Another Smith says, "Old Lute shore is a-pickin' 'em up and a-layin' 'em down." Lee nods his head. "Old Rock is pushin' that fox on the tail."
"Man! Ain't that heavenly music!" somebody else exclaims.
Eleven men "yipp-ee-ee" excitedly, as dogs and fox complete a circle, then race on down the Creek through the Wash Winningham place. We all know that Old Wash, too old now to follow the chase, will be sitting on his front porch wrapped in a quilt, waiting for the chase to go by. Above the distant baying of the dogs, we can hear Wash's faint cry: "Hipp-ee-EE!"
The cry of the dogs wavers in and out as they race through another farm, plunge down a valley, then take to the hills. Fainter and fainter they grow. Once