other side, but again we were
disappointed; the sound of the torrents was all that we could hear.

Descending again to the plain, we procured some breakfast at a friend's
house, and we started for the Matturatta Plains. These plains are about
three or four miles from the barracks; and I had a faint hope that the
buck might have crossed over the mountain, and descended into this
part of the country to a river which flows through the patinas. We now
mounted our horses, having been on foot all the morning. It was three
o'clock P.M., and, with little hope of finding the dogs, we rode along
the path towards the Matturatta Plains.

We had just entered the forest, when we met a young hound returning
along the path with a wound from a buck's horn in the shoulder. There
was now no doubt of the direction, and we galloped along the path
towards the plains as hard as we could go. About half way to the plains,
to my joy I saw an immense buck's track in the path going in the same
direction; the toes were spread wide apart, showing the pace at which he
had been going; and there were dogs' tracks following him, all as fresh
as could be. This was a gladdening sight after a hard day's work, and we
gave a random cheer to encourage any dogs that might be within hearing,
rattling our horses over the ground at their best speed.

At last the plains were reached. We pulled up our panting steeds, and
strained every nerve to hear the cry of the hounds. The snorting of the
horses prevented our hearing any distant sound, and I gave a holloa and
listened for some answering voice from a dog. Instead of a sound, Bran
and Lucifer suddenly appeared. This was conclusive evidence that the
pack was somewhere in this direction, and we rode out into the plain and
again listened. Hark to old Smut! there was his deep voice echoing from
the opposite hills. Yoick to him, Bran! forward to him, Lucifer!
and away the greyhounds dashed towards the spot from which the sound
proceeded. The plain forms a wide valley, with a river winding through
the centre, and we galloped over the patinas after the greyhounds in
full speed. There was no mistaking the bay. I could now distinguish
Merriman's fine voice in addition to that of old Smut, and a general
chorus of other tongues joined in, till the woods rang again. The horses
knew the sport, and away they went, but suddenly over went old Jack,
belly-deep in a bog, and sent me flying over his head. There is nothing
like com