Hoof Beats 



They were riding hard, for the scent was breast 

 high and the music of the hounds was continuous 

 and beautiful to hear. A big stone wall lay before 

 them, but the Marquis remembered it was there 

 long before anyone else did. He saw the master 

 settle down in his saddle, steady his horse a bit, 

 then shake him up sharply with a dig of his long 

 hunting spurs. The Master was safely over and 

 away, when Fullerton cut loose the flea-bitten gray 

 who always rushed his jumps, and was bucking 

 and fighting to follow — but the Marquis was off 

 before and crossed them on the way. It was un- 

 sportsmanlike he knew, he had never tolerated it 

 himself from another, but everything was fair 

 today. He jumped it neatly, just resting his hind 

 hoofs for an instant on the rail on the top of the 

 wall, but the flea-bitten gray had swerved and 

 refused when the Marquis balked him and nearly 

 put Fullerton off, so that the latter finally had to 

 be given a lead over by the next man that came 

 along. The gray had soured and was acting in a 

 peculiarly nasty manner, but what seemed worse 

 to Fullerton was the way the others laughed. 



The pace was a hot one — they had not checked 

 for an instant — and the fox was in plain sight 

 most of the time, running hard, pressed by the 

 foremost hounds. The Marquis was riding the 

 Master close, and the latter was yelling himself 

 24 



