There was a roaring run of an hour, and then, in the midst of an open place in the woods, the scent was lost. The huntsmen pulled up, and the hounds, at fault, rushed whimpering from one spot to another. The horses were breathed, but Birdseye's wind, like everything else about her, was admirable, and she was impatient to be off again. After half an hour of uncertainty, the hounds running hither and yon, the trail was again struck, and the whole pack, led by Rattler, went shrieking on their way, in full cry. There was another hour's hard run, and then, close to a little farmhouse, and on the edge of the poultry yard where the red fox had found his prey, he met the doom of justice. The dogs closed in upon him, and although the fox, vicious to the last, snarled and bit furiously, the day of vengeance was at hand. At that moment every huntsman put spurs to his horse, that he might be first in at the death, but to Fortescue this honor came. The master of the hunt rode up and dismounted. There was no ceremony of throwing his whip upon the ground, for the foxes were really pests, and were meant to be destroyed. The scoundrel fox by that time lay dead upon the ground, and the master handed his knife to Fortescue, who cut off the brush, a splendid one, thick and long. Betty's heart beat as she rode up with the others. The master was on the ground, patting and encouraging the dogs. Fortescue was also on the ground. The presentation of the brush could not take place until it had been washed and prepared, but a word or two and a look from Fortescue's laughing eyes conveyed to Betty that she was to receive the honor.
It was now after ten o'clock, and, although they had ridden a good fifteen miles, much of it had been in a circle, and they were not more than five miles from Bendover. Sally Carteret led the procession back to Bendover, along the country roads, in the clear wintry noon. The farmers and their wives came running out to their gates to know if the fox was killed, and rejoiced to know that he was dead on the very scene of his iniquities.
The sharp air and the exciting exercise had fired the blood of all. They laughed and sang, and the gentlemen complimented the ladies upon their pluck, and got compliments in return. Fortescue thought that the clock of the centuries had turned back--it was so quaint, so old-fashioned. The modern, eager, bustling, anxious world was forgotten; it was like the hunting and hawking of the eighteenth century.