The Hunting Year 



from you when you know there is an impassable 

 bog in front of you, the skirting of which means 

 riding a mile or two out of your way. Then 

 there are the inevitable mists and fogs which 

 are very perplexing, and again it is soon dark, 

 and you have to hurry a tired and perhaps not 

 a very sound horse over a rough track, well 

 knowing that if you are not within touch of the 

 road by nightfall, the hour of your arrival home 

 is a very uncertain quantity indeed. 



Many of my readers, I know, have never 

 been alone in the middle of a moor on a tired 

 horse with perhaps threequarters of an hour of 

 daylight left, and a certain four miles to travel 

 before the high road can be hit. I have had 

 that experience many times, and an awesome 

 experience it is. 



A hard day has finished in the orthodox 

 manner by the death of a stout fox about half- 

 past three o'clock in the afternoon. That fox 

 has shown you a great run, and the small field 

 which is generally found at a moorside fixture 

 in mid-season has been reduced to half a score, 

 including the hunt servants. These, with a 



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