All further discussion was cut short by the arrival of the hounds, and the master, Mr O’Farrell of Tuffnell Park. The whips consulted for a moment with the master, and then the second whip conferred with Billy the Buck. The result of this conference was that the master resolved to draw Rafferty’s Clump, where the old grey dog-fox with the ring on his tail was supposed to be. Rafferty’s Clump is a huge spinny; it forms part of the Galtee woods. There are not many trees in the Galtee woods; it is a great space of barren country, with here and there an isolated copse. The horsemen moved off down the road, following the master and the hounds, and the governess-cart and donkey-cart followed in the crush. “Mind your manners!” cried Patsy, as the sweep’s donkey-cart jostled the “tub,” as the governess-cart was sometimes called. “There’s no hurry; they won’t be needin’ you yet awhile to frighten the fox out of the wood.” “Dunkeys is particular fond of carrots,” replied Mr Mahony, making veiled reference to Patsy’s unfortunate head. “Faith, then,” said Patsy, “if I’d known that, I’d have brought some in me pocket for the pair of yiz.” The procession paused whilst a gate was opened, and then the whole field streamed over a stretch of broken country, in the direction of Rafferty’s Clump. “Billy,” cried Patsy to Billy the Buck, who was trotting beside the “tub,” touching his hat now and then whenever he caught Lord Gawdor’s eye, “is there a fox in the clump?” “Ould dog-fox, grey as a badger,” replied Billy, “thrap-marked on the shoulder, wid a ring to his tail.” “White ring?” asked Patsy. “Crame-white.” “I know him as well as me own brother,” said Patsy. “Mr Fanshawe, sir.” “What is it?” asked Mr Fanshawe, who was riding close to them. “It’s the ould fox that broke Mr Moriarty’s back. If he breaks to the aist he’ll be off to Kilgobbin, and mind the sunk fence beyant Highberries Barn; if he breaks to the west the divil won’t stop him till he gets to the big stone wall beyant the river. He’ll have to strike up it half a mile to get to the hole in it, and thin he’ll strike across the twinty acres, sure, for it’s the earths in the Tullagh woods he’ll be makin’ for; so I’ll give yiz the word, and if you hear me shout ‘Tullagh,’ send your man wid your second horse to the Tullagh cross-roads to meet you.” “You seem to know the lie of the country, Patsy,” said Mr. Fanshawe, who had drawn rein, and was sitting listening to the querulous yapping of the dogs busy in the wood. “I’ve follied the hounds ever since I was the height of me knee,” replied Patsy. Then: “Hurroo! hurroo! he’s broke away to the west. ‘Tullagh’ whoop. Hould tight, Miss Doris, and we’ll follow thim to the rise.” The fox had broken away to the west, going, to use Patsy’s expression, like a railway train.