Whenlfhe Marquis Came Into His Own 



is holding him back, for a well bred colt might 

 break his heart and no one would know 'ti.l he 

 dropped. But the Marquis fights for his head, 

 gets control of the bit, and before FuUerton can 

 take him up, his bootleg is rubbing the Yorkshire 

 Lad's soapy shoulder, and the Marquis is leading 

 again. 



"Hark to 'em, hark to 'em, hark to 'em," the 

 Master shouts, just as his raw-boned flea-bitten 

 grey strikes her knees on the top of the wall, and 

 though she scrapes over, nearly goes down when 

 she finds a nasty two-foot drop. The Marquis 

 rises at it prettily, nose and nose with the York- 

 shire Lad, head up, with his hocks well under 

 him, — for it's a treacherous down-hill landing, and 

 they are going like mad, the hounds never at fault. 

 No time to check,it's a breast high scent, but there 

 is a difference now in the voices of the hounds; 

 it's deeper and stronger than ever it was before 

 and echoes back from two or three fields beyond. 

 "We've got him, we've got him, we've got him," 

 the music seems to say, and the Marquis jumps at 

 the change in the sound, and fights with the York- 

 shire Lad for the right to lead the way. 



"Hark to 'em, hark to 'em, hark to 'em," 

 again the Master shouts, and the gray gallops 

 bravely ahead, forgetting the bruise on her knees, 



129 



