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 vorite pathway that led along a precipitate cliff to the very spot where he had tumbled the Holcome greyhound over the precipice. Here he stopped upon the old shelf to rest and watch the pack. They would not venture to climb along that narrow way with the soft snow underneath. In fact, they were already quitting. When Redcoat had satisfied himself that he had gotten rid of his pursuers he yawned and shook himself and started for his beloved spruces. He had escaped. He had outwitted both men and dogs, and was satisfied. But it had been a long hard run and a close call. He would be careful how they cornered him in that way again.

The club never knew just how it happened. It was probably more of that Redcoat's deviltry, for when they had thought they had him for sure, he had slipped through their fingers. But wait, there were more hunts coming. They would get him next time. So the hunters waited and bided their time.

The second great fox hunt was like the