Taking a Toss 



HOUNDS are running hard for the past twenty minutes. 

 Not a semblance of a check. The pace is terrific over 

 a magnificent line of country with big sensible banks. 

 One fairly-wide river, the honest variety, no slime or 

 sponge-like edges ; not a trace of wire anywhere. Horse 

 never put a foot wrong since the Gone-away . . . blowing 

 somewhat now, though ; last big wall took some negotia- 

 ting. It seems to have thinned the already select field 

 to a mere dozen. Thank Heaven for the down-hill 

 gallop after that last stiff hill; horse's wind feels easier 

 now. Out on the left, riders are heading for a gate. 

 It seems a long way off, and this wall does not seem such 

 a terrifying rasper. Come on, old Challenger, the wall 

 will save time. Steady now, not so fast. Slower still, 

 slower I say Hup ! Over ! God bless us oblivion. 



Chill water soaking into one's shoulder-blade proves 

 sufficiently uncomfortable to warrant investigation. 

 Hazily one realises the ground is sodden with surface 

 water, and it seems peculiar one should have chosen 

 such a resting-place. Gloves drink vast quantities of 

 icy liquid as one rises hurriedly. Portions of once- 

 immaculate breeches feel and look like over-saturated 

 blotting paper. Hoof-beats thunder far away on the 

 left as late arrivals pour through the gateway in a long 



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