After two hours' dodging and maneuvering the fox came out at the very end of Bellman's Coppice, with nothing near him but Richard Bassett.

Pug gave him the white of his eye in an ugly leer, and headed straight as a crow for Higham Gorse.
Richard Bassett blew his horn, collected the hunt, and laid the dogs on.

Away they went, close together, thunder-mouthed on the hot scent.
After a three miles' gallop they sighted the fox for a moment just going over the crest of a rising ground two furlongs off.

Then the hullabbaloo and excitement grew furious, and one electric fury animated dogs, men, and horses.

Another mile, and the fox ran in sight scarcely a furlong off; but many of the horses were distressed: the Bassetts, however, kept up, one by his horse being fresh, the other by his animal's native courage and speed.
Then came some meadows, bounded by a thick hedge, and succeeded by a plowed field of unusual size--eighty acres.
When the fox darted into this hedge the hounds were yelling at his heels; the hunt burst through the thin fence, expecting to see them kill close to it.
But the wily fox had other resources at his command than speed.
Appreciating his peril, he doubled and ran sixty yards down the ditch, and the impetuous hounds rushed forward and overran the scent.