234 STAG-HUNTING ON EXMOOR 



was a burst of music, and the stag was seen 

 swimming in the canal. He scrambled out, ran 

 down the road a few hundred yards with the 

 pack at his heels, and then jumped over the fence 

 into ploughed ground, where he fell, and was rolled 

 over a moment afterwards, when he was found to 

 have a broken leg. The fatal stab to the heart 

 was dealt as soon as our stag was taken, and now 

 the hounds must be given their portion. " Look at 

 that ! " exclaims a sporting farmer as the body is 

 turned over and the legs are seen standing stark 

 and stiff in the air. " Ay, properly runned up, poor 

 thing," answers the huntsman, who is busy anato- 

 mising. " Brasher, bother your old head, you'm 

 always after the venison." And Brusher, who has 

 stolen forward and began licking the haunch, beats 

 a hasty retreat, not without a taste of whipcord. 

 Then the hounds' portion is made over to them, the 

 huntsman reserves his perquisites, and the head 

 being claimed by the Master, all the farmers of tlie 

 district account for the venison share and share 

 alike. The run lasted exactly seven hours from 

 the lay on ; the last liour and a-lialf we hunted 

 in the dark. Eight only of us saw the finish. 



And now looking over my record of this memor- 

 able run how bare an itinerary it seems, lacking 

 the mental eye to fill up the scene with luscious 



