THE LIFE OF A FOX. 137

of the terrier which had driven us out of our
retreat, and he was to be taken to the kennel for
the same employment when required, which, sure
enough, was often the case. Luckily for me,
he was not with the hounds a short time after,
when I was again found by this pack, as I lay in
a wood, near Fleurs, belonging to the Duke of
Roxburgh, who, though no fox-hunter, is one of
our best friends, and gives his keepers strict orders
never to destroy us. But for the absence of this
terrier I must have been in jeopardy that day; for,
having heard the hounds running after another
fox, I was just stepping away to a drain, close to
the Tweed, in a contrary direction, not before I
was seen, and a few hounds got on my scent,
which they followed until they reached the drain
where I was. On being told of which, old Will,
the huntsman, brought the rest of the hounds to
the spot, determined to get me out. Tools were
procured, and several attempts were made, but in
vain. Some half-bred terriers were then sent for,
but they would not venture near me, nor could

they a second time be urged to go in. Other