Across Country with Greyhounds 7 



ahead like piston rods. The dogs have lost some time 

 at the turn, and he is two or three hundred feet ahead. 

 Half the horses are out of the game, the wash is a dis- 

 courager, and two philosophers are walking back, tak- 

 ing the chance of being in at the death in a double ; but 

 a small bunch of riders are well in, and riding like the 

 wind. Long ago it was a runaway race ; no attempt is 

 made to stop or check the horses ; it is their race, and 

 some will not be stopped. The wind cuts the face, and 

 gravel fills the air, picked up by the flying hoofs ; while 

 the long lines of blue and grey are creeping up, and on, 

 in a mysterious fashion. Perhaps you are with the 

 master of the hounds in the lead where you can see 

 every move of horse, hound, and game. You watch 

 the marvellous machine just ahead ; the dogs shooting 

 forward, then dropping behind. You hear the master 

 of the hounds speak to them ; now quickly as the jack 

 runs into the brush, where they lose sight of the game 

 and are at sea. You see them look at him and spring 

 in the air in great steely bounds, glancing quickly around, 

 then, following the direction indicated by his horse, rush- 

 ing out into the open. The hare is running down a 

 vineyard, doubtless hoping to throw some unfortunate 

 riders on to the black ugly stumps, just leafing out. 



But the horses know the place well, and just at the 

 end the dogs close in and turn again, forcing the hare 

 down through the level field. You see him now, not 

 fifty feet ahead ; not the jocund tree girdler that bounded 

 out of the eucalyptus grove half an hour before, but 



