The Game Itself 333 



deep-tongued Vagabond hits off the line, raises his head, and 

 gives a great shout. A dozen hounds rush past him, and 

 once more the distant woods reecho the joyous notes of 

 horn and hound. Away we go again. Now we have set- 

 tled down to business. There must be no more nonsense 

 now: not an ounce more of exertion than is absolutely 

 necessary must be taken from our horses. Steady, now, to 

 this first fence ! Take him well in hand from now on. It 

 is a question not so much of fast riding as of horsemanship. 

 That 's it ! Slow him down nearly to a trot. It 's a high 

 fence, and he no longer jumps higher than is necessary. 

 Good ! Well over, Novice. Yet not so with every one. 

 There is a great smashing of top rails, and four riderless 

 horses go racing away in the next field. Nobody is hurt, 

 luckily. One fellow has his silk hat knocked into an 

 accordion down over his ears and eyes, and is trying with 

 both hands to extricate himself from under it. Another is 

 chasing along across the field afoot, feeling very cheap 

 indeed, like a fellow running after an express-train. An- 

 other, whose white hunting-breeches have turned green, is 

 staring wildly about as if he were just recovering his senses, 

 not knowing whether he is awake or dreaming. Another 

 has crawled up on the fence, and sits there, digging the grass 

 and dirt out of his neck and ears, while he trusts to some 

 one else to catch his horse for him. 



Four horses were seen in a terrible plight ; 

 Four riders were all more or less in a fi-ight. 



At this juncture comes a check again. Now Renard 

 has in all probability turned, after a rest, and is headed for 



