The fox took to the bank of one of these furrows, and followed it at a rate of speed which the boys had never seen equaled.
The moment Lightfoot discovered him, he raised himself on his hind-legs, and struggled and fought furiously.

But Frank would not release him in that position, for fear the hound would "throw" himself; and he commenced striking him on the head, to compel him, if possible, to place his fore-feet on the ground, but all to no purpose.
During the struggle, short as it was, the fox had gained nearly thirty rods.

Archie was not slow to notice this, and he shouted to his cousin, "Let him go! let him go! The fox has too long a start already." Frank accordingly released the hound, which made an enormous bound, and, as Frank had expected, he landed, all in a heap, in one of the dead furrows, and, before he could recover himself, the fox had gained two or three rods more.

But when the hound was fairly started, his speed was astonishing.

He settled down nobly to his work, and moved over the ground as lightly as if he had been furnished with wings.
Had he been a well-trained dog, the boys would have felt no concern whatever as to the issue of the race; but, as it was, they looked upon the escape of the fox as a very probable thing.