226 The Rifle and Hound in Ceylon. 



him. all as fresh as could be. This was a gladdening 

 sight after a hard day's work, and we gave a random 

 cheer to encourage any dogs that might be within 

 hearing, rattling our horses over the ground at their 

 best speed. 



At last the plains were reached. We pulled up our 

 panting steeds, and strained every nerve to hear the cry 

 of the hounds. The snorting of the horses prevented 

 our hearing any distant sound, and I gave a holloa and 

 listened for some answering voice from a dog. Instead 

 of a sound, Bran and Lucifer suddenly appeared. This 

 was conclusive evidence that the pack was somewhere 

 in this direction, and we rode out into the plain and 

 again listened. Hark to old Smut ! there was his deep 

 voice echoing from the opposite hills. Yoick to him, 

 Bran ! forward to him, Lucifer ! and away the gray- 

 hounds dashed toward the spot from which the sound 

 proceeded. The plain forms a wide valley with a river 

 winding through the centre, and we galloped over the 

 patinas after the grayhounds in full speed. There was 

 no mistaking the bay. I could now distinguish Merri- 

 man's fine voice in addition to that of old Smut, and a 

 general chorus of other tongues joined in, till the woods 

 rung again. The horses knew the sport, and away they 

 went, but suddenly over went old Jack, belly-deep in a 

 bog, and sent me flying over his head. There is noth- 

 ing like companionship in an accident, and Momus ac- 

 cordingly pitched upon his nose in the same bog, my 

 brother describing a fine spread-eagle as he sprawled 

 in the soft ground. We were close to the bay ; the 

 horses extricated themselves directly, and again mount- 

 ing we rode hard to the spot. 



The buck was at bay in the river, and the exhausted 



