elessly across his shoulder. Then he trotted leisurely down
the run-way toward his own earth, where he meant to feast in
security and comfort. At the end of the run-way came a wide, open
stretch of waste land, on the far side of which lay the track to
Reynard's cave. Well hidden by the bushes at the end of the run-way,
on its lee side, crouched Finn, every nerve tensely alert. He
waited till Reynard was well clear of the run-way and fairly
started across the open, and then he sprang out from the place of
his concealment, his leap carrying him to within a yard of
Reynard's flank. The insolence of good and easy living, and long
mastery over the creatures that dwelt about him, led the fox into
perhaps two seconds of indecision; and those two seconds cost him
dear. There was no indecision about his flight, of course, and
almost before Finn's feet touched the ground, the fox was stretched
to the full stride of his top gait. The indecision was in the
matter of relinquishing his booty; and that it was which cost the
fox dear by reducing his starting speed. At the end of his fourth
stride, he dropped the rabbit; but at the end of his fifth stride
the Wolfhound was abreast of him, with neck bent sideways, and jaws
stretched wide. Less than a second later, Finn's great jaws closed
upon the back of the fox's shoulders; and that was where Finn made
his first mistake. He was, for all his recent experience, quite new
to the killing of such a quarry as the fox, who himself was easily
able, and big and strong enough for the killing of such prey as
Finn had learned to hunt. The shoulders of a hare or a rabbit were
easily smashed between Finn's jaws; but the shoulders of the big
fox, with their mat of dense fur, were far otherwise. Finn's teeth
sank deep, but they broke no bones.

Nevertheless, his weight and the force of the impact between the
two, brought Reynard to earth, where he rolled smartly on his back,
slashing at Finn's fore-arm with his sharp white fangs, and
snarling ferociously. In the same instant almost, the fox was on
his feet, but before he could leap away, Finn's jaws descended on
the back of his neck, gripping him like a vice, and shaking him
almost as a terrier shakes a rat. With a desperate squirm the fox
wriggled earthward from this terrible grip, and, as Finn drew
breath, stabbing at the fox with one fore-paw, as he would have
stabbed at a still living rabbit, to hold it, Reynard's fangs cut
deeply into the loose