Mr. Sponge knew
that unless he carried off some trophy, it would never be believed he had
killed the fox. Considering all this, and also that there was no one to
tell what damage he did, he just rode slap into the middle of the pack, as
Marksman, Furious, Thunderer, and Bountiful were in the act of despatching
the fox. Singwell and Saladin (puppies) having been sent away howling, the
one bit through the jowl, the other through the foot.
'Ah! leave him--leave him--leave him!' screeched Mr. Sponge, trampling over
Warrior and Tempest, the brown horse lashing out furiously at Melody and
Lapwing. 'Ah, leave him! leave him!' repeated he, throwing himself off his
horse by the fox, and clearing a circle with his whip, aided by the hoofs
of the animal. There lay the fox before him killed, but as yet little
broken by the pack. He was a noble fellow; bright and brown, in the full
vigour of life and condition, with a gameness, even in death, that no other
animal shows. Mr. Sponge put his foot on the body, and quickly whipped off
his brush.
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