108 MELTON AND HOMESPUN 



smart canter across the arid veld, jump the wide spruit 

 that has to be negotiated ere the kennels are reached, 

 and five minutes later I draw rein before the huntsman's 

 bungalow. Having done ample justice to an excellent 

 little dinner, I pay a visit to the kennels to find as good- 

 looking a little pack as one would wish to see comfortably 

 benched for the night. Then the huntsman takes me to 

 view the first litter of foxhound puppies ever whelped 

 in the Transvaal. 



" Isn't it a lovely picture ? " exclaimed Tom Parker, 

 as he gazed fondly at the sleek and beautifully marked 

 little hounds nestling up to their matronly-looking badger- 

 pied dam, old Amazon. Yes, indeed, it was a lovely 

 picture. But, alas ! not one of that litter of eight ever 

 lived to hunt either jackal or buck (there are no foxes 

 in the Transvaal; the pack were therefore entered to 

 both jackal and antelope). Neither was Tom, although 

 a most painstaking and good houndsman, ever successful 

 in rearing a litter of whelps. For a time they would 

 apparently thrive remarkably well, but would suddenly 

 contract a virulent form of distemper, a couple of days 

 of which malady generally sufficed to wipe out a whole 

 litter. 



" We must leave home before sunrise to-morrow, sir, 

 for it's a good ten miles from the kennels to * Halfway 

 House,' and it isn't worth the price of red-herring trying 

 to hunt after the dew has gone, for the veld don't hold 

 a scrap of scent then," were Tom's parting words to me 

 as I jogged off to the Master's house which stood within 

 a stone's throw of the kennels. It wanted yet a couple 

 of hours to daybreak when a long-drawn blast from the 

 huntsman's horn caused me to jump up from my bed ; but 



