340 The Poacher. 



beat Tom Hardy j' 5 and his last remark on bidding me good-by 

 was, " Two hundred is his price guineas, mind ; and if you can 

 sell him for me, you shall never want a mount this season." 



He agreed to send the horse on that afternoon, and I left him to 

 fret and fidget on a sick bed, while I was picturing to myself in 

 imagination how I would hop over the splashed blackthorns and 

 stiff post-and-rails in the Findon country, now I was sure that I had 

 sjot a mount on a horse which could do it. 



I will not occupy too much space in a description of this day's 

 run ; suffice it to say that it was the " run of the season." We found 

 our fox directly the hounds were thrown into the gorse a regular 

 "silver-grey flyer." He headed straight for Waverley Wood, 

 eight miles without a check, over the cream of our country. Every 

 man meant going that day, and more than half took his own line 

 and kept it. We crossed the Findon brook twice, but as it was early 

 in the run, the cold water proved a stopper to but very few. Tom 

 Hardy was riding a grey, so he was good to make out. As I had 

 not got his length, I did not deem it prudent to take liberties with 

 him at starting, and for the first four miles he led us j but the rest of 

 us were close behind him, ready to come when we were wanted ; 

 and I never remember in my life seeing so even a field, or one, to 

 use a racing phrase, which appeared to be so well handicapped. Out 

 of about a hundred men who went away with the fox, I do not be- 

 lieve we lost thirty between Findon and Waverley Wood. For 

 nearly the whole eight miles we rode in a line, every man in his 

 place, and if a man and horse did come down, they were up again 

 and in their places like magic. Each seemed to feel that the pace 

 was too good, and the run likely to last too long, to take any liber- 

 ties with our horses j and every one, if he could only keep his place, 

 felt satisfied. The hounds were in view the whole run up to 

 Waverley Wood, and as every man silently watched his neighbour, 

 ne inwardly wondered when the pace would begin to tell. Before 

 we got to the wood, it was "bellows to mend " with some of us, 

 and the tailing began. About fifty men, however, were well up 



