“Most unprecedented!” Mr. Carteret heard the Major exclaim. He pulled up his horse, as the field did theirs, and waited apprehensively. He saw Hole-in-the-Ground circle around, jerk the Major’s five hundred guinea hunter to a standstill close to Lord Ploversdale and address him. He was speaking in his own language. As the Chief went on, he saw Grady smile. “He says,” said Grady translating, “that the white chief can eat the fox if he wants him. He’s proud himself bein’ packed with store grub.” The English onlookers heard and beheld with blank faces. It was beyond them. The M. F. H. bowed stiffly as Hole-in-the-Ground’s offer was made known to him. He regarded them a moment in thought. A vague light was breaking in upon him. “Aw, thank you,” he said, “thanks awfully. Smith, take the fox. Good afternoon!” Then he wheeled his horse, called the hounds in with his horn and trotted out to the road that led to the kennels. Lord Ploversdale, though he had never been out of England, was cast in a large mold. The three Indians sat on their panting horses, motionless, stolidly facing the curious gaze of the crowd; or rather they looked through the crowd, as the lion with the high breeding of the desert looks through and beyond the faces that stare and gape before the bars of his cage. “Most amazing! Most amazing!” muttered the Major. “It is,” said Mr. Carteret, “if you have never been away from this.” He made a sweeping gesture over the restricted English scenery, pampered and brought up by hand. “Been away from this?” repeated the Major. “I don’t understand.” Mr. Carteret turned to him. How could he explain it? “With us,” he began, laying an emphasis on the “us.” Then he stopped. “Look into their eyes,” he said hopelessly. The Major looked at him blankly. How could he, Major Hammerslea of “The Blues,” tell what those inexplicable dark eyes saw beyond the fenced tillage! What did he know of the brown, bare, illimitable range under the noonday sun, the evening light on far, silent mountains, the starlit desert! HOW MR. CARTERET PROPOSED II HOW MR. CARTERET PROPOSED Barclay slowly guided his horse through the mounted throng to the spot where Mr. Carteret was sitting on a chestnut thoroughbred horse watching hounds as they came straggling out of the spinney. They had drawn blank. The fox was not at home. When Barclay reached his friend he pulled up casually as if he had come for no express purpose, and said nothing. After a few moments he began, as if an idea had just come to him: “It has occurred to me, Carty,” he said, “that if we brought American horses to England, we could make a lot of money.”