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The whips being duly signalled by Bragg to their points--Brick to the north
corner, Swipes to the south--and the field being at length drawn up to his
liking, Mr. Bragg looked at Mr. Puffington for his signal (the only piece
of interference he allowed him); at a nod Mr. Bragg gave a wave of his cap,
and the pack dashed into cover with a cry.
'Yo-o-icks--wind him! Yo-o-icks--pash him up!' cheered Bragg, standing
erect in his stirrups, eyeing the hounds spreading and sniffing about, now
this way, now that--now pushing through a thicket, now threading and
smelling along a meuse. 'Yo-o-icks--wind him! Yo-o-icks--pash him up!'
repeated he, cracking his whip, and moving slowly on. He then varied the
entertainment by whistling, in a sharp, shrill key, something like the
chirp of a sparrow-hawk.
Thus the hounds rummaged and scrimmaged for some minutes.
'No fox here,' observed Captain Guano, bringing his horse alongside of Mr.
Bragg's.
'Not so sure o' _that_,' replied Mr. Bragg, with a sneer, for he had a
great contempt for the captain.


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