326 GUN, RIFLE, AND HOUND. 



the small field (for most were slipped at the start) on 

 this side of the valley. 



"There's an earth just on there," said the Master, 

 and I expected the end of our gallop, which had been 

 fast. But no, hounds pushed on harder than ever and 

 we settled down to ride. Choosing one's own line is 

 not easy there, but in a quarter of an hour we were 

 pretty well scattered. I had a flying glimpse of San 

 Roque, lying far below to the right, which was my 

 only guide to our whereabouts. Meanwhile the going 

 got worse. I was following our first whip, Luxford of 

 the Welsh Fusiliers, for there was only one track of 

 any kind where even a Spanish horse could go. 



" Take your own line, do," he shouted back. 



He was right, for the fall of one would have brought 

 us both down ; but where else could a horse go ? So I 

 pulled back a couple of lengths. Presently he crossed 

 the bottom to the right, and I, seeing a slight track 

 before me, kept straight on. 



My track, unfortunately, soon disappeared, and the 

 going became truly awful. At last I had to turn 

 uphill on a ridge, and presently was confronted by a 

 huge rock, perhaps some three feet out of the ground. 

 I crammed " Jack-o'-Lantern " at it, but the horse was 

 too blown for the up-leap. His feet slipped on the 

 rock, the hind legs went from under him, and I felt 

 him coming back on me. By great good fortune he 

 fell towards the hill, and still more luckily I landed in 

 a large gorse-bush soft if prickly. Having rolled me 

 well into it, my unlucky steed proceeded to turn over 

 himself, and finally brought up in the bottom, some 



