144 STAGHUNTING WITH THE 



I'p Manor Allotment and into Kittucks they 

 stream, stringing out in the breathless race, 

 then bend to the right over Acmead, and fling 

 into Hurdle Down. The high beech fences have 

 not turned the fugitive, nor do they check 

 hounds long, but they falter a little amongst 

 the sodden heather ere thev sink into Nutscale. 

 But see now how thev fling over Wilmersham 

 Plain, and dive into Dadycombe ! How they 

 speak at tlie water, and what an eager blood- 

 thirstv burst of tongue it is ! Not a moment 

 do thev dwell now, but while we are climbing 

 the path out of Langcombe, they are dashing 

 over Stoke Ridge into Bagley. 



There they go again, not a hundred yards 

 ahead, packed closelv together as they rise from 

 Sweetworthy Combe. Now the rain beats down 

 upon our luckless heads, blurring everything, 

 drenching one to the skin ; but this is no 

 time to think of putting on coats and aprons. 

 Hark what a cry in Allercombe. Have they 

 come up with him ? No, 'tis three hinds 

 jumping up. There they go back and the pack 

 divides, but Anthonv sets them right in a 

 twinkling and gallops forward past the head of 

 Hollowcombe and upwards for Robin Howe. 

 The heavv rain has done its work though and 

 washed the soil. Slowly and doubtfully hounds 

 fling from right to left, yet ever trending to- 

 wards the direction of Brockwell. Now comes 



