WITH THE MADRAS HOUNDS. 35 



His brother A.D.C. finds a better place more to the left, and 

 quickly the bulk of the field are pursuing the now flying pack. 

 For twenty minutes the pace is glorious. The country wants 

 only a handy horse that will keep his hind legs under him for 

 the quick recurring little jumps. Grief becomes frequent, and 

 even the pick of the horses begin to sob. Broken girths put 

 down one of the leaders on to a soft black bed ; and the Waler, 

 under the strange sensation of a saddle clinging to him only by 

 a martingale, is buck-jumping round the field after the manner 

 of his race. "Hold up, old horse, you're a borrowed one and a 

 good one. Don't carry a muddy face home to disgrace us 

 both ! " This can't last much longer, or jackals must indeed be 

 of diabolic origin. Hounds are now tailing, tailing, till, like a 

 comet, their head diminishes to a point. No amount of cheer- 

 ing to the cry will make up for unavoidable want of condition 

 and assortment ; but there is such a scent that the three lead- 

 ing hounds are straining every nerve ; and soon the fastest of 

 the trio forges ahead and tears along the line alone. Now we 

 are once more in growing paddy ; the pack close up a little 

 more as the foremost hounds make a track for those behind. 

 Now we are within a hundred yards of the sheltering rocks and 

 trees, and our plucky jackal must have proved too stout for us. 

 But when close upon the stronghold the leading hounds sud- 

 denly throw up their heads, the earliest of the scattered field 

 pull up their blowing staggering horses to cluster about — loudly 

 praising the charms of the run, which they assumed to have 

 resulted in a clear victory for Jack, when from their very midst 

 up jumps the gallant quarry, mud-stained and stiff, but game 

 to the last. Round and round the pack chase him with mad- 

 dened chorus. Now he gains ten yards in a high patch of the 

 green paddy, now they are all but on him, but he whisks round 

 a bush with a fresh start for his life. Now he feels he is all 

 but penned, his limbs are failing him, and his head is dizzy 

 with fatigue, so he turns round with the desperation of death 

 upon his hated persecutors, and his instantaneous end is as 

 gallant as the last hour of his life. "Who-whoop! who-whoop!" 



