132 BEATING THE SPRINGS AND THE WOOD. 



what do you think if we were to beat Inch 

 Wood?" 



"The cocks are in it, no doubt sir, an' I 

 don't believe yer honour could do better." 



There is a couple of miles of a walk to Inch 

 Wood. The wood covers both sides of a glen 

 through which a mountain torrent . runs. It 

 forms exactly a figure of this kind wo a o d dVwL 



River. 



We send the beaters in amongst the trees and 

 brushwood. Staunton and I take our places 

 on the hill, my uncle and Tom Redmond 

 guard the road. And now the cheery cry of 

 " Hie cock ! Hie cock ! '' resounds amongst 

 the timber, together with the cracking of the 

 cudgels against the branches and ferns, and 

 the hollow roar and boom of the stream in 

 the valley. " Hie cock ! Hie cock ! " shouts 

 Jack Sullivan. " Hie cock ! Hie cock ! " yells 

 his assistant bushwhacker. " Mark cock ! " 

 yells Jack, and we look eagerly, with our guns 

 ready, along the top line of trees. 



There is a dead silence for a second which is 

 broken by the report of a gun, and then a 

 shout from my uncle proclaims that an addi- 

 tion has been made to the bag. 



