218 A DAY WITH THE DRAG 



lay on, and have a gallop of quite five hundred 

 .yards before coming to anything in the way of an 

 obstacle. Over a piece of timber, to the tune of a 

 most unholy cracking of top rails, we go, and soon 

 find ourselves approaching the far boundary which 

 offers us the choice of a blind, hairy place, with a 

 big ditch on the far side, a gate securely nailed 

 up, and a greasy- looking foot-bridge adorned with 

 several dangerous-looking holes. This last we all — 

 as I think, wisely — eschew. Some make for the 

 gate : the rest of us try the first-named place. One 

 of the whips goes at it " hell for leather," and gets 

 over. I, following him, I blush to say, rather — 

 just a very little — too closely, utter a silent prayer 

 that my leader may not fall, and somewhat to my 

 astonishment feel " the musician " apparently dis- 

 appearing into the bowels of the earth beneath me 

 whilst I shoot over his head and sprawl, spread- 

 eagled, on my hands and face into the ploughed 

 field beyond. He has jumped short and paid the 

 penalty by dropping into the ditch. I shout back 

 " No " to a kindly enquiry as to whether I am hurt, 

 and the questioner gallops on, leaving me to wrestle 

 with the problem of how I am to extract the 

 hog-maned one from his present retreat. As I 

 take him Ijy the rein and wonder how deeply his 

 hind legs are imbedded in the sticky clay, he makes 



