hed her sentence the dogs came into view, and I
could hardly restrain a shout of triumph as I saw Flora running easily
and unerringly far to the front. Behind her, led by Captain--and so
close together that, as Uncle Plato afterward remarked, "You mout kivver
de whole caboodle wid a hoss-blanket"--were the remainder of the Tunison
kennel, while the Jasper county hounds were strung out behind in wild
but heroic confusion. I felt strongly tempted to give the view-halloo,
and push "Old Sandy" to the wall at once, but I knew that the fair de
Compton would regard the exploit with severe [v]reprobation forever
after. Across the ravine and to the fence the dogs came, their voices,
as they got nearer, crashing through the silence like a chorus of
demons.

Now was the critical moment. If Flora should fail me--!

Several of the older dogs topped the rails, and scattered through the
undergrowth. Flora came over with them, made a small circle, with her
sensitive nose to the damp earth, and then went rushing down the fence.
Past the point where "Old Sandy" took his flying leap she ran, turned
suddenly to the left, and came swooping back in a wide circle. I had
barely time to warn Miss de Compton that she must prepare to do a little
rapid riding, when my favorite, with a fierce cry of delight that
thrilled me through and through, picked up the blazing [v]drag, and away
we went with a scream and a shout. I felt in my very bones that "Old
Sandy" was doomed. I had never seen Flora so prompt and eager; I had
never observed the scent to be better. Everything was auspicious.

We went like the wind. Miss de Compton rode well, and the long stretches
of stubble land through which the chase led were unbroken by ditch or
fence. The pace of the hounds was simply terrific, and I knew that no
fox on earth could long stand up before the white demon that led the
hunt with such splendor.

Five--ten--fifteen minutes we rushed at the heels of the rearmost dogs,
until, suddenly, we found ourselves in the midst of the pack. The scent
was lost! Flora ran about in wide circles, followed by the greater
portion of the dogs. To the left, to the right they went. At that
moment, chancing to look back, I caught a glimpse of "Old Sandy," broken
down and bedraggled, making his way toward a clump of briars. He had
played his last [v]trump and lost. Pushed by the dogs, he had dropped in
his tracks and literally allowed them to run over him. I rode at him
with a