THE HAUNTED HUNT 9 



dreams of future Grand Nationals. My young horse was 

 rather a handful in a crowd, so I went on to the whip at 

 the far end of the cover. 



" We had not long to wait before there was a whimper ; 

 and half a minute later, there, stealing away, was my old 

 acquaintance the big, grey, bobtailed fox. Away he 

 went on his familiar line ; and I, with the thoughtlessnes 

 of youth, and in the excitement of getting well away with 

 hounds, never recked that I was riding at the very part 

 of the bank which had been fatal to Anthony Nunn. I 

 was coming nicely at it, when suddenly Pride of Tyrone 

 swerved, crossed his legs, and fell, shooting me out of the 

 saddle. Quite unhurt, I picked myself up at once. 

 Pride of Tyrone was already on his feet some yards away, 

 drenched with sweat and plunging back towards the 

 Whin. As I started to go after him, he circled round at 

 a canter and went at the bank exactly as if he had been 

 ridden at it. I was too late to intercept him, and he 

 popped on and off like a bird, and strode away over the 

 rise of the next field. 



" I remember noticing as he went past me that the reins 

 had somehow got caught on the saddle. 



" By this time the field were galloping by me, some 

 going over the bank as the shortest way, others following 

 the huntsman through a gap a hundred yards or more to 

 the right. 



" Running across the next field and climbing on to the 

 next bank for a better view, I could see the hounds fairly 

 racing, and close up with them, served by his great speed, 

 was the runaway Pride of Tyrone ; a widening space 

 between him and the rapidly tailing field. 



" Pursuit on foot and in riding boots was out of the 



