188 Memoir of Tom Smith. 



The imfortimate ^' whips," whose legs had 

 been martpisecl by wading so long through 

 this ocean of nnyielding thorns, had just re- 

 mounted their nags, after pulling off their 

 boots in order to clear them of the prickly 

 furze with which they were filled ; the hoimds, 

 with drooping, blood-tij^ped sterns, sneaked 

 out, all looking most rmhappy and abashed. 

 I concluded we had — after, as I thought, 

 every possible effort — again drawn blank, and 

 that we were now about elsewhere to try our 

 luck. 



Such, however, was not the case. Trotting 

 back along the edge of the '^fretful" and much 

 ^^ fretted" gorse, Tom Smith still persevered, 

 and, like a skilful general looking out for some 

 weak point in the enemy's stronghold, ap- 

 peared determined to make one effort more 

 to dislodge him from his place of strength. 

 I happened to be close behind him at the 

 moment when I observed him to check his 

 horse, as '^Destiny," a favourite bitch, sud- 



