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 music, but Reynard the Fox thought it quite otherwise.

As the hunting party fared forth on that crisp November morning, George Washington Jones, a utility negro at Eaton Manor, was in charge of the pack as he was the best handler of fox hounds in Kentucky. He was closely followed by the hunting party, the men coming first and the women bringing up the rear.

The master of the hounds led the way straight to Saddle Mountain and the hunters followed at a leisurely trot. There was no need of getting excited in this early stage of the hunt. There would be time enough for excitement after the fox had been started. That might take an hour or two. But the colored man had been prospecting about with a couple of trusty hounds for a week and had learned the daily habits and usual run of Red Fox, so far as any red fox can be spied upon. But Reynard is a sly fellow, rather restless and very suspicious. The things he does to-day he does not always do to-morrow, so one can not say just where he