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 Again Redcoat was unlucky, for once more the pack took his track half an hour after he had passed the roadway leading parallel with the mountain and came after him full cry. The men employed the same stratagem they had done the week before, for they deployed along the road, an eighth of a mile apart, so as to head him off from the mountain. Once again Redcoat tried all his old ruses to throw off the pack, but it clung to his track like a burr and refused to be dislodged.

Again the running was very hard, for the deep snow of the week before was still there and six inches more had been added to it. There had been no freezes hard enough to make even a thin crust, so it was a case of straight hard running, with the victory to the one with the longest legs and the best wind. Redcoat's wind was just as good as that of any hound, but his legs were not as long; besides a pack had an advantage over an individual, for always some one of the pack which was spread out fan shaped would discover a loop in the trail and cut across.