Hunting in the Golden Days. 83 



By this time the rider of Sulphur has managed to 

 scramble up the bank, and, having secured the reins of 

 his horse, is endeavouring to drag him out ; meanwhile, 

 Oldwig is puffing and blowing up to his armpits in the 

 stream, and wringing the water out of his eyes and 

 ears, vowing vengeance against his horse. " But no time 

 must be lost," thinks Oldwig. " Winebold will, no doubt, 

 have his horse out in a minute and make the most 

 of his opportunity to steal a march on me." So, 

 clambering up the muddy bank, he regains his horse, 

 which a yokel has fortunately caught, and quickly 

 mounts. His temper is thoroughly roused at Dragoon's 

 scurvy behaviour, and, after waking him up thoroughly 

 with the persuaders, he puts him resolutely at the water, 

 for he well knows the horse he bestrides is one of the 

 finest water-jumpers in the county. Dragoon, now 

 seeing his rider means business, goes at the brook at 

 racing pace, carrying his rider well over with two 

 feet or more to spare ; but by this time Winebold 

 is leading three fields ahead, and going in gallant 

 style, in fact he is close to the steeple where half their 

 journey is accomplished. Oldwig is too much of a 

 veteran sportsman to bustle his horse to overtake 

 Sulphur, for he knows that he is not yet home, 

 and he wisely calculates that as he has a horse in front 

 of him, there is little chance of his mount refusing any- 

 thing else that he may be called upon to negotiate. 

 Furthermore, his blood is warm, and he feels they have 

 got over the worst of the course. He remembers now, 

 with a smack of satisfaction, that on the return journey 

 they will be able to cross a farm bridge, and thus save 

 themselves a second encounter with the Drencher. 

 Standing well up in his stirrups, he pursues the flying 

 Winebold, who is still merrily sailing away, no doubt 



