For nearly two hours we pursued our way, mounting higher and higher, until we reached a broad glen, shut in by very high hills, on which were some cairns much affected by the foxes. During this time the old fox-hunter had kept up a continuous stream of talk, quite regardless of the severity of the ascent, which was such in places as to render me glad of the excuse afforded by the glorious view below, for a momentary rest. His theme was foxes, and it may be imagined that after an experience of nearly fifty years he had a good deal to say worth listening to on the subject. One anecdote of a cub I remember. He had been asked by some southern laird to preserve any cubs he could catch, and to send them south to him for turning out; and one spring he succeeded in getting three. They were too young at the time of capture to bear the long journey; but after two months he put the three into a wooden box, nailed it down, and took it in a cart to the pier, some twelve miles distant, where the steamer by which he was going to send them called. A gentleman he met there told him that unless he wished the cubs to die of suffocation he had better take the top of the box off and bore breathing-holes in it; and while doing so one of them made its escape. It was dark at the time; and after a short pursuit he had to give it up as hopeless, and returned home next morning after sending off the remaining two. To his astonishment he found the missing cub comfortably ensconced in its accustomed corner, and was told by his wife that at eleven the previous evening, just three hours after the little animal had made its escape, she had heard something scratching at the door, and on opening it found the cub, much travel-stained and wet, and evidently very tired, but delighted at reaching home again. How it managed to find its way on a dark wet night over a road it had never seen, and had only once traversed shut up in a box at the bottom of a cart, is one of the mysteries of instinct; a faculty which ought rather to be ranked with reason.
On entering the glen Ian commenced to cast his hounds, which had hitherto kept to heel, from side to side; and we had hardly gone a hundred yards before they began to get busy, and in a few minutes it was evident they had got on the line of a fox. Knowing the ground well, we watched them without moving for a little while, until indeed we felt no doubt as to the particular cairn their quarry had been making for, and then, as his line had by no means been a direct one, we had ample time to get above the hounds and, while making our own way as direct as possible, watch them as they followed him along the mountain-side. It was pleasant to see them all working together, making a cast here or a turn there, as they puzzled out the cold scent, their rich full note every now and again reaching us as one or other of them was able to 'speak' to it. Winding in and out among the small corries, but ever rising higher and higher, the tiny pack at last headed direct for the cairn, close to which we had arrived several minutes before; and whether the scent was fresher, or they were encouraged by again seeing us, every hound joined in the musical chorus.