While Watchorn was thus manoeuvring his forces Wily Tom beckoned him on,
and old Cruiser and Marmion, who had often been at the game before, and
knew what Wily Tom's hat on the ground meant, flew to him full cry, drawing
all their companions after them.
'I think he's away to the west,' said Tom in an undertone, resting his hand
on Watchorn's horse's shoulder; 'back home,' added he, jerking his head
with a knowing leer of his roguish eye. 'They're on him!' exclaimed he
after a pause, as the outburst of melody proclaimed that the hounds had
crossed his line. Then there was such racing and striving among the field
to get up, and such squeezing and crowding, and 'Mind, my horse kicks!' at
the little white hunting wicket leading into cover. 'Knock down the wall!'
exclaimed one. 'Get out of the way; I'll ride over it!' roared another. 'We
shall be here all day!' vociferated a third. 'That's a header!' cried
another, as a clatter of stones was followed by a pair of white breeches
summerseting in the air with a horse underneath.
Pages:
693
694
695
696
697
698
699
700
701
702
703
704
705
706
707
708
709
710
711
712
713
714
715
716
717