i66 STAGHUNTING WITH THE 



away from the rest as we climb through the 

 ferns in the hot sunshine. Over yonder on the 

 right, in that lane, there's a surging crowd of 

 bobbing heads ; one scarlet coat goes down 

 already ; 'tis the master, but he seems none the 

 worse, and comes on again gaily. Now to stop 

 Michael and let the rest come up and start fair. 

 Here on the top there's a delightfully cool east 

 wind. Horses are sobbing and lathering already, 

 but thev will have just time to catch their wind. 

 "How long has the stag gone, farmer?" 

 "Just about a quarter of an hour, sir." "Hoick, 

 hoick," says Anthony, and away they go, then 

 falter for a minute, and again swing forward 

 toward Ducky Pool. Now sit down in your 

 saddle, my friend ; catch him tight by the head, 

 and come along ; they are off like the wind, 

 and 'tis a far cry to your second horse at Bren- 

 don Two Gates. How dry the moor is, to be 

 sure ! It is nearly the end of September, and 

 yet one can gallop over the worst of it. Still a 

 re-distribution of seats has begun already ; the 

 drainage gutters are taking their toll of the daisy 

 clippers and star-gazers and the tied shoulders. 

 Here we go down over the long slope of Vint- 

 combe to the ancient fording of the Barle. Time 

 to this water, twelve minutes from the Down. 

 Dr. Bond's horse essays to soil with him, as it 

 once did before in the Haddeo Water with woeful 

 effect, but now whip and spur and objurgations 



