58 HUNTING. 



doors are thrown open, his lordship gives a shrill blast from his 

 horn, and the whole pack rush down the steep hill after him at 

 a pace that is particularly unpleasant to all but the native 

 sportsmen and their horses. 'That's the best way, my lord — 

 right up the road ! ' says a farmer on a pony. The hint is taken, 

 and the summit of the wood is gained in less than five minutes 

 from the start. There is Arthur, impatient as the hounds. He 

 gives one cheer, claps them on the line before a third of the 

 field has reached the open, and keeps driving the pack on at 

 their best pace. The ground is uneven and rugged, but the 

 pace is good, and the hounds are drawing away from the horses. 

 On yonder hill Arthur views the quarry running westwards to 

 the inclosed country, where he is lost to sight. The local 

 sportsmen make the best of their way to the point where he was 

 last viewed, while the veteran huntsman and the hard riders 

 drive their horses along in pursuit of the pack. 



On the crest of the hill they throw up, but Arthur will not 

 let them rest. Sticking his spurs into his horse, and giving a 

 couple of twangs with his horn, he gallops at their head to the 

 inclosed country. There the hounds hit off the scent, and 

 race parallel with the moor road for a couple of miles, when a 

 turn at right angles down to the bottom fills the minds of the 

 timid horsemen with amazement. ' 'Tis no use going there,' is 

 proclaimed far and wide. Yet the hounds go, and they who 

 wish to see the end must follow suit. 



At the bottom is a bog, from whence flows a small stream. 

 The hounds are at fault again. Eager eyes are straining to 

 discern the 'slot.' None is perceptible. ' He's gone right on,' 

 chime in those who are well mounted. ' What has Arthur 

 gone back for ? ' He has seen the slot fifty yards back point- 

 ing backwards. A shout soon proclaims that the stag is seen 

 in the pool down the stream. The hounds interpret the mean- 

 ing of that shout correctly, and race off. But before they can 

 reach him, he rises from the pool, or ' breaks soil ' in the 

 fullness of his strength and majesty, and with the drops of water 

 trickling from his neck and belly, he races back to the moors, 



