122 STAGHUNTING WITH THE 



left "terra tirma " far behind and the land of 

 bogs and peat holes is looming large just ahead. 

 There are the hounds streaming up from the 

 Hoar Oak Water, hard by Gammon's Corner, 

 pointing straight for the head of the West Lynn, 

 and here are we bv the wall dividing Exe Plain 

 from Cheriton Ridge. What shall we do, go to 

 them, or make for Pinkerrv Pond ? Mr. Snow 

 says the latter, so off we go over a series of 

 horribly trappv drainage gutters, but our good 

 horse has got his eve on 'em, and pumped 

 though he is, puts in never a foot, but hops 

 cannilv over and is ready for the next. Now 

 along by the wall, in Indian hie in the one 

 sound path, full of water though it be : it is the 

 onlv sound path in the long dreary expanse of 

 the Chains. On and on we go, past Pinkerry 

 Pond and upwards towards Chapman's Barrow, 

 but never a sign of the hounds : where on earth 

 can they have got to ? Has our cast been in 

 vain ? Why here's a stag coming to meet us, 

 and bv all that's great and good he is the 

 hunted one ! His mouth is fast closed ; no, 

 he opens it again, and the great white liecks 

 of foam fly on the wind, as he plunges heavily 

 through swamp after swamp in his long labouring 

 gallop. He's going back to the Pond to soil ; 

 let us wait till the hounds come up, every 

 moment's breathing time will help our horses. 

 There comes the string of bobbing heads, toiling 



