346 STAGHUNTING WITH THE 



back as even his piercing vision can reach, 

 horsemen are coming fast to converge upon his 

 hne of flight. He now plainly sees himself in 

 danger, and regretting vainly that he ever left 

 the big Quantock woodlands behind him, or 

 that he ever crossed the Stowev Road, resumes 

 his lurching gallop and puts the skyline 

 between himself and danger. The sea breeze 

 fans his heated cheek and flank, as with 

 prickly gorse beneath his feet he sinks to 

 Erridge Combe, where water is hard to hnd. 

 Without waiting, he passes on all round the 

 long slopes of West Hill, smelling the salt sea 

 more plainlv with every long laboured stride. 

 Now he knows what he must do, he must plav 

 his trump card and gain that wide sea below, 

 for there he feels certain he can easily distance 

 the fleetest hound that ever walked out from 

 Bagborough. On the furzy ground sheep and 

 ponies are grazing, and far ahead against the 

 sunlight he espies a long black line, that runs 

 all down the slope, the iron rails of the St. 

 Audries fence. Right across to it he goes, as he 

 has often done before by moonlight, to exchange 

 compliments with the deer within, but as he 

 nears it now it looks higher and stifter than it 

 ever did before, and a passing thought of 

 leaping it is relinquished at once. With lowered 

 head, and quickly panting breath he trots 

 down beside its long black length, and presently 



