chap. II. ELK TURNED TO BA Y. 3I 



hold in a deep river to bay. Listening to the hounds 

 till certain of their course, a thorough knowledge of 

 the country at once tells the huntsman of their destina- 

 tion, and away he goes. 



He tightens his belt by a hole, and steadily he 

 starts at a long, swinging trot, having made up his 

 mind for a day of it. Over hills and valleys, through 

 tangled and pathless forests, but all well known to 

 him, steady he goes at the same pace on the level, easy 

 through the bogs and up the hills, extra steam down 

 hill, and stopping for a moment to listen for the hounds 

 on every elevated spot. At length he hears them ! 

 No, it was a bird. Again he fancies that he hears a 

 distant sound — was it the wind ? No ; there it is — it 

 is old Smut's voice — he is at bay ! Yoick to him ! he 

 shouts till his lungs are well-nigh cracked, and through 

 thorns and jungles, bogs and ravines, he rushes towards 

 the welcome sound. Thick-tangled bushes armed 

 with a thousand hooked thorns suddenly arrest his 

 course ; it is the dense fringe of underwood that 

 borders every forest ; — the open plain is within a few 

 yards of him. The hounds in a mad chorus are at 

 bay, and the woods ring again with the cheering 

 sound. Nothing can stop him now — thorns, or clothes, 

 or flesh must go — something must give way as he 

 bursts through them and stands upon the plain. 



There they are in that deep pool formed by the 

 river as it sweeps round the rock. A buck ! a nobl<- 



