Instead of the waters of Acheron, however, there was nothing more formidable in his line than a straggling, overgrown bullfinch at the far end of the field; just such a fence, indeed, as Marathon was in the habit of declining, but yet which he hoped the turmoil behind, the general excitement, and the persuasive powers of his own spurs, would enable him to induce his horse to face. He had plenty of time to scan it as he approached. Half-a-mile or so of ridge-and-furrow, even at a hunter’s best pace, gives leisure for consideration. Ere the hounds had strung through it in single file, he was aware of a wide ditch _to_ him; on the farther side was obviously a grass-field, _and_ an uncertainty! Marking with his eye the weakest place, through which, nevertheless, he could not see daylight, Mr. Sawyer, crammed his hat on his head, and set his horse resolutely at the fence; Marathon, according to custom, when he expected anything out of the common, _shutting up_ every stride he went. Had it not been rather downhill, even his master’s consummate horsemanship would have failed to bring him close to it. The fall of the ground, however, and the pace he was going, forbade the bay to stop. _Crash!_ he plunged into the very middle of the fence—broke through it from sheer velocity, to jerk both knees against a strong oak rail beyond—blundered on to his nose over _that_—slid half-a-dozen yards on his head—nearly recovered himself—stumbled once more, and finally got up again, with his curb-rein turned over his ears; the rider’s feet out of both stirrups, hat off, a contusion on his left eyebrow, and the horse’s nostrils fall of mud, but _no fall_! “By the powers, that’s a _rum one_!” said Mr. Sawyer, as he cantered slowly up the opposite slope, repairing damages the while, and turned round to see the first flight charge the obstacle, which had so nearly disposed of his own chance. [Illustration: “Four loose horses galloping wildly away.”] Lusty as eagles, ravenous as wolves, jealous as girls, down came the four _gluttons_ at the fence, each man having chosen his own place, and scorning to deviate one hair’s breadth from his line. None, however, had made so judicious a selection as Mr. Sawyer. The rail, which had so nearly discomfited the latter, would neither bend nor break, but he had the luck of getting it where it was lowest and nearest to the fence; everywhere else it was not only high, but stood out a horse’s length into the field, just the place which must catch the cleverest hunter in the world, if ridden to do it all in its stride.