'It's Tom Sawbones, the
doctor!' exclaimed one, 'and he can mend himself.' 'By Jove! but he's
killed!' shrieked another. 'Not a bit of it,' added a third, as the dead
man rose and ran after his horse. 'Let Mr. Bugles through,' cried Sir
Harry, seeing his friend, or rather his wife's friend, was fretting the
Arab.
Meanwhile, the melody of hounds increased, and each man, as he got through
the little gate, rose in his stirrups and hustled his horse along the green
ride to catch up those on before. The plantation was about twenty acres,
rather thick and briary at the bottom; and master Reynard, finding it was
pretty safe, and, moreover, having attempted to break just by where some
chawbacons were ploughing, had headed short back, so that, when the excited
field rushed through the parallel gate on the far side of the plantation,
expecting to see the pack streaming away over the downs, they found most of
the hounds with their heads in the air, some looking for halloos, others
watching their companions trying to carry the scent over the fallow.
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