138 FOX-HOUND, FOREST, AND PRAIRIE. 



of life, or to defend themselves and their rights in matrimonial 

 combat. 



Hounds are heading straight upwards for the thick sholah, 

 that clothes many an acre of the highest hillside. Jack made 

 a sore mistake in not struggling on for it, for he has the best of 

 the game just now, and is well out of view of the leading 

 hound. But his evil genius has turned him from it. The pack 

 wheel off to the left ; so do we most gladly (for we are dropping 

 slowly, surely behind), and, with hounds sparkling gaily and 

 noisily above, we kick along at our utmost round the circular 

 hill. The springy turf helps us on, and there is little effort 

 beyond a smooth swift gallop now. We are just near enough to 

 see which hounds are racing to the head, and to cheer the 

 laggards to their leaders. Of a sudden they swoop towards us 

 like a flock of pigeons, and we just reach them as they pass. 

 For two or three miles in front the grassy slope stretches 

 gradually downwards ; and yet, though we have as good a pair 

 of shoulders under us as Australia can produce, hounds are 

 beating us every yard. As they reach the dip their game is to 

 be seen not more than fifty yards in front of them tongue out 

 and brush down. His strong propelling muscles are no good to 

 him now. In two hundred yards more they are on his back, and 

 the fierce rumbling of a kill (you know the welcome sound, 

 reader, if my English is inadequate to express it) reaches us as 

 we struggle and spur to the spot. A fine dog jackal, or " plenty 

 big man jackal," as Mr. Yeerasawmy terms him when five 

 miuutos later he arrives, grinning and glistening, to perform the 

 last attentions to the dead. Jack has to be sliced in two or 

 three directions (without which the pack will scarcely tear 

 through his thick offensive skin) ; then we gather up what 

 breath we have left for a few final screams, and soon all that 

 remains of our stout quarry is the brush at a lady's bridle, the 

 head at Veerasawmy's saddle, and a hind leg upon which old 

 Clinker is still exercising his massive jaws. 



A fortnight ago three of the big dog hounds from Quorndon 

 (Dalesman, Chaunter, and Auditor) tore & porcupine to pieces. 



