Frances was earlier than she thought. She turned in the road behind the master of the hounds, who, grown too stout for riding, had a nag and a buggy could race on any mountain-road. He leaned out and called back to her.
"What are you driving for?"
"Father wouldn't let me ride!"
"Well, you can trot behind me," he laughed.
As they drove past the front of the house, the big gate beyond the stable-yard was flung open and the whole train, horsemen, carriages, dogs, swept out on the open rolling hillside beyond.
The master of the hounds drew off to the left.
"Leave a space there! Clear the way there! That's where the fox will be started!"
The crowd followed them to the field side.
Lawson rode up to the trap. "What are they going to do?" he asked in bewilderment.
Frances looked at him uncomprehendingly. She had been calling gay badinage to one and another of those about her.
"Where are they going to start the fox? Don't you let the dogs—"
"Oh!" with a long intonation of comprehension, "why, we've got the fox with us; first catch your fox, you know—"
"Who—where?"
"Why, Mr. Payne has him. Every boy in the county knows he will pay a big price for a fox. They have their traps out and when they catch one they bring it in to him, and then—" a comprehensive wave of her hand finished the sentence.
"The dogs—" began Lawson, still unenlightened.
"Oh they put the dogs up in the stables, don't you see? Watch them!" she turned in the trap seat and Lawson wheeled his horse.
A boy stood guard at the stable door. One by one their masters were coaxing and coercing the dogs inside. Their calls echoed all over the field. "Here, Dixie!" "Here, Duke!" and now and then an impatient master wound his horn to call his dogs to his feet, whereat every dog inside the big echoing stable went fairly mad with barking.
"H-e-r-e, M-u-s-i-c!" "H-e-r-e, S-a-l!" Two frisky dogs were careering down the hillside, their masters in wild pursuit.
"There they go, the two worst dogs in the county!" cried Frances impatiently.
"And the two best hunters, once they are started!" declared Mr. Payne.
Lawson, tired of the dogs' antics, turned his attention to the scene about him. The hill rolled from where they waited down to a wide stream at its foot. It was waste land, and the long grasses were deeply green or purple with seed-pods or browned with sering weeds; down by the stream was a tangle, scarlet and yellow leaved, and gray and purple-stemmed, a tangle of sumach and blackberry and bramble; and beyond, on the climbing land, was the great forest where the pine showed vivid green and the chestnut flared like gold in the sunshine gilding the hillside and pricking out all its colorings—the oaks' persistent russet, the changing hues of the tangled undergrowth.
About him were riders of every description; smart vehicles filled with bright-faced women, the farmer in top-boots astride his nag, the Englishman from his fancy stock farm in the country hard by on his bobtailed horse and wearing the toggery of his irreproachable hunting outfit, women in jackets or long skirts on skittish-looking steeds, and women in tailor-made habits exact in set and fit, with stiff derbies on their smooth hair and heavy crops in their hands.
The hounds were all prisoned at last. The men who had dismounted hurried to their horses. Those who had not, settled themselves in their saddles. In the tense silence all the sounds of the morning could be heard, the deep breathings of the horses, the creakings of the saddles, even the wind stealing through the grasses and singing in the trees of the forest across the way and the gurgling of the stream about the rocks in its bed.
Mr. Payne got nimbly out of his buggy, holding a big bag of burlap, with a squirming something inside. He walked to the middle of the cleared space and laid the tied bag down carefully, the mouth turned to the hillside. He bent over the cords. There was a sharp, triumphant bark.
"Good Lord!" he groaned as he snatched up the bag, tossed it over his shoulders and ran for his buggy.
Music and Sal had nosed wildly around in the stable until they had found a loose board, had broken cover, and were baying their triumph to the countryside, a dozen venturers at their heels. The boy who guarded the door was pressing the board against the other prisoners and calling loudly for help.
"Oh!" groaned Frances, "they've got it all to go over again!" and she settled back in the trap in comic despair.
Lawson by this time was growing impatient. He was used to seeing things differently managed. He was concluding secretly that this boasted Virginia fox-hunting was somewhat overrated. Music and Sal still bayed upon the hillside.
Mr. Payne, bag in hand came up to the trap. "Want to see him," he whispered.
Frances nodded delightedly.
"He's a beauty!" He unfastened the bag carefully and peering down into it she saw first a red fluffy curl and then two big jewel-bright eyes, looking pathetically scared.
"Ah!" she said, pityingly.
"A red fox!" cried Mr. Payne enthusiastically, "a genuine red fox!"
But Frances had no bright answer ready; she was seeing just two dark scared eyes and that big fluff of a tail curled about the pointed face. The hunt did not seem as joyous as a moment ago. She did not notice that the baying had ceased, that Mr. Payne had gotten again from his buggy with his burden, and then her startled eyes saw a flash of reddish yellow straight down the hillside, a flying leap across the stream and a swift taking to cover.
She heard Mr. Payne's "Quick, pull in behind me!" as he drove out to the middle of the field. She saw the riders range to left to right, she saw the fringe of carriages by the fence corner where the sober ones waited to see the start; but she, in the trap, was close behind the toughest rider in the country. She heard the snapping of the watches in the tense silence and the low "How many minutes?"
"Seven!" cried Mr. Payne, thrusting his watch in his pocket and standing up in his buggy. He waved his arm.
"Turn out the hounds!"
And then Frances forgot everything. She was driving down the roadless hillside swift as the wind. The trap lurched to right to left. The wind cut her cheek. Horsemen dashed past. The hounds were almost underfoot, running straight; the chorus of their voices filled all the echoing valley. The stream was crossed with a swift splash. The nag ahead was running straight up-hill and Starlight was following. The wheels struck a rock and jolted her to her knees; she slid back on the seat again. The riders were in the woods now, but their course lay straight as the road ran. Fences and woods and fields of stacked corn and wayside cabins slid past, but they kept the pace.
Then Starlight went more slowly, the heavy trap was telling on him; the gray nag and her driver were nearly out of sight, the driver waving an impatient hand at the loiterer as he sped around the last turning. Worse too, the baying was growing less and less distinct; she urged Starlight on. He gave a burst of speed, the wheels went rolling over a rock, and in a breath the trap was going down—down—and Frances rolled quite easily into the dry ditch.
For a moment she lay still, dazed. She watched the deep, intense, blue of the sky overhead and the screen of oak branches against it and the buzzards floating lazily high up in ether. She stretched her limbs and found them unhurt, and then she turned her head on her arm. "Father will never let me go again!" she moaned. She got to her feet. "I wonder what is the matter, anyway!" she muttered; but the trouble was easy enough to see. The violent wrench had turned the wheel inside out and broken every spoke off short at the hub.
Starlight, head turned, was looking behind him reproachfully.
"Turn your head, you old goose; it isn't my