Watchorn galloped up in the frantic state half-witted huntsmen generally
are, and one of the impromptu whips being in attendance, got quickly round
the hounds, and commenced a series of assaults upon them that very soon
sent them scuttling to Mr. Watchorn for safety. If they had been at the
hares again, or even worrying sheep, he could not have rated or flogged
more severely.
'MARKSMAN! MARKSMAN! _ough, ye old Divil, get to him!_' roared the
whip, aiming a stinging cut with his heavy knotty-pointed whip, at a
venerable sage who still snuffed down a furrow to satisfy himself the fox
was not on before he returned to cover--an exertion that overbalanced the
whip, and would have landed him on the ground, had not he caught by the
spur in the old mare's flank. Then he went on scrambling and rating after
Marksman, the field exclaiming, as the Edmonton people did, by Johnny
Gilpin:
He's on! no, he's off, he hangs by the mane!
[Illustration: 'LET MR. BUGLES THROUGH']
At last he got shuffled back into the saddle, and the cry of hounds in
cover attracting the outsiders back, the scene quickly changed, and the
horsemen were again overhead in wood.
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