A CHOKING FINISH. 125> 



had been set to the good. And then the landmark of the Noel 

 Arms (once a pothouse on the Melton and Oakham Road) was 

 reached. Oh, how hot we were ! Oh, how we hated macadam ! t 

 Oh, how mean seemed those last ten minutes ! ! ! But here we 

 were with, hounds — and very few honest men before us. Two- 

 ploughed fields, instead of bringing respite to Reynard, had 

 brought him across the scufner and the drill. (Alas, 'twas but 

 yesterday we leaped barley stooks after the early cubs), and the 

 huntsman could cut a corner almost on to his back. Once over 

 the Oakham road, the half assured run was made a certainty. 

 Only grass in front ; and quite scent enough — for hounds were 

 close at their game, and the fences sufficiently strong and close- 

 to forbid any over-riding. Passing just short of Whissendine 

 Village, it was easy to recognize many a wide-set difficulty that 

 had oftentime made its impress on shallow courage, as we 

 shirked it with the Cottesmore. Now we found ourselves 

 crossing the Stapleford and Whissendine road ; and so we 

 n eared Stapleford, gasping much, delighted more, but wonder- 

 ing most — that a gallop was given us to-day. Firr pushed up 

 the road ; the pack drove hard up the grass field alongside ; 

 and the plantations of Stapleford Park were looming across the 

 valley. But a wide dry fallow led down the slope towards the 

 brook (that we so often misterm The "Whissendine). How 

 could hounds keep up their pace over the scentless dust ? 

 There's the answer — bold Reynard, beaten and blown, barely 

 crawling over the clods ! Tally ho ! tallyho ! ! He had little 

 chance now. The pack were clapped on to him before he- 

 reached the water ; and chased him up to the narrow spinney 

 bordering the Park. Here he dodged wearily about for some 

 two or three minutes after the huntsman and his followers,, 

 having forded the brook, had come up for the final scene. Then 

 — about five and forty minutes from the time his race began — 

 the big brown fox was stretched, an unsightly fragment, on 

 the greensward. This was the hottest, most choking, run I 

 remember to have seen in Leicestershire. 



