It was a sure find, and the hounds dashed into it with a scent.
The field ranged themselves at the accustomed corner, both hunts full of
their previous day's run. Frostyface's 'Yoicks, wind him!' 'Yoicks, push
him up!' was drowned in a medley of voices.
A loud, clear, shrill 'TALLY-HO, AWAY!' from the far side of the cover
caused all tongues to stop, and all hands to drop on the reins. Great was
the excitement! Each hunt was determined to take the shine out of the
other.
'Twang, twang, twang!' 'Tweet, tweet, tweet!' went his lordship's and
Frostyface's horns, as they came bounding over the gorse to the spot, with
the eager pack rushing at their horses' heels. Then as the hounds crossed
the line of scent, there was such an outburst of melody in cover, and such
gathering of reins and thrusting on of hats outside! The hounds dashed out
of cover as if somebody was kicking them. A man in scarlet was seen flying
through the fog, producing the usual hold-hardings. 'Hold hard, sir!' 'God
bless you, hold hard, sir!' with inquiries as to 'who the chap was that was
going to catch the fox.
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