W.VRWICK WOODLANDS. 133 



"Our plot had been well laid, and thus far had succeed- 

 ed. I, with eleven horsemen, drawn up in easy pistol 

 shot one of the other, had taken our ground in perfect 

 silence; and, as we readily discovered, by the untrodden 

 surface of the snow, our enemies were as yet undisturbed. 

 My station was the extreme left of our line, as we faced 

 westward, close to the first ridge of the southern hill; and 

 there I sat in mute expectancy, my holsters thrown wide 

 open, my Kuchenreiiters loaded and cocked, and my good 

 ounce-ball rifle lying prepared within the hollow of my 

 arm. 



"Within a short half hour I saw the second party, cap- 

 tained by our friend Garry, coming up one by one, and 

 forming silently and promptly upon the hill side — and 

 directly after I heard the crash and shout of our beaters, 

 as they plunged into the thicket at its westward end. So 

 far as I could perceive, all had gone well. Two sides, my 

 own eyes told me, were surrounded, and the continuous line 

 in which the shouts ran all along the farther end, would 

 have assured me, if assurance had been needful, for Tom 

 himself commanded in that quarter, that all was perfectly 

 secure on that side. A Jerseyman, a hunter of no small 

 repute, had been detached with a fourth band to guard 

 the open fields upon the north ; due time had been allotted 

 to him, and as we judged, he was upon his ground. Scarce 

 had the first yell echoed through the forest before the pat- 

 tering of many feet might be heard, mingled with the rust- 

 ling of the matted boughs throughout the covert — and as 

 the beaters came on, a whole host of rabbits, with no 

 less than seven foxes, two of them gray, came scampering 

 through our line in mortal terror; but on they went un- 

 harmed, for strict had been the orders that no shot should 

 be :fired, save at the lawful objects of the chase. Just at 

 this moment I saw Garry, who stood a hundred feet above 

 me on the hill, commanding the whole basin of the 

 swamp, bring up his rifle. This was enough for me — my 

 thumb was on the cock, the nail of my forefinger pressed 

 closely on the trigger-guard. He lowered it again, as 

 though he had lost sight of his object — raised it again 

 with great rapidity, and fired. My eye was on the muzzle 

 of his piece, and just as the bright stream of flame glanced 

 from it, distinctly visible in the dim of morning twilight, 



