I20 STAGHUNTING WITH THE 



up the side of Oldhay Ridge ; it will never do 

 to knock the wind out of the plucky Irishman 

 beneath us just yet. How he pulls and fights, 

 to be sure ! Fit to jerk one's arms from the 

 sockets. But he will soon give that up unless 

 I am much mistaken. Now let us slip gingerly 

 across Blindwell Combe by the narrow sheep- 

 track. There go the hounds racing for the 

 larch plantation in Landcombe, and there goes 

 Mr. Snow, leading a small squadron of cavalry 

 for the gate into the Turf Allotment. Some- 

 thing is wrong with the Deer Park gate. Never 

 mind ! let us tip over the fence and show the 

 twenty or so behind us the way. " That is the 

 style," says Anthony, who is remounting, as the 

 good grey lands us well out on the vonder 

 side. Now harden vour heart, mv friend, and 

 we will sail awav for all we are worth to 

 regain the two minutes lost at the fence, all 

 down the half-mile slope of the Deer Park 

 to the head of the Doone Path, through the 

 knee-deep heather and spongv green grass. 

 There go the hounds just sinking to the Badg- 

 worthv Water, and we must race like the wind 

 if we are to be in time. There goes a herd 

 of fourteen deer bv Woodcock Combe — that 

 old rascal, Galloper, is driving them — and there 

 goes a great heavy stag straight for Brendon 

 Two Gates up the long slope of Badgworthy 

 Hill, but our stag has crossed the water lower 



