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 meadows, making small lagoons and ponds. Water stood in many of the hollows. But, two days previous to the hunt, winter conditions had returned to the land and all of the pools were skimmed over with anchor ice, while the ground on this clear, crisp March morning was as hard as steel. It was a wonderful morning for the chase for both hounds and horsemen. There were no crops in the meadows or on the uplands and conditions were ideal for the run.

Redcoat had been molested very little during the winter by hounds or hunters and he was quite confident that he could outrun or outwit any pack of hounds that ever trailed a fox. The three marvelous escapes he experienced the Fall before he had attributed to his own cunning instead of rare good fortune and this tended to increase his confidence, so ever since the snow had disappeared early in March he had prowled about the farms at will, barking defiance at the farm dogs whenever he saw them.

On the morning in question, he had gone around to the west side of the mountain and