"Daughter," said the colonel, checking his horse as he prepared to follow, "are you sure of Lorna?" "Perfectly. She is going to do her worst for a while and then her best. Steady girl; don't disgrace yourself before company." Lorna danced and tossed her head and chewed upon her bit with impatience. At that moment Barksdale rode into the yard, mounted upon a tall thoroughbred, his equipments perfect, dress elegant, seat easy and carriage erect. He seemed to Edward a perfect horseman. He gravely saluted them both. "I see that I am in the nick of time, Miss Mary; I was afraid it was late." "It is late," said the girl, "but this time it is a cat and doesn't matter. The scent will lie long after sun-up." They were following then and the conversation was difficult. Already the dark line of men was disappearing down the line in its yet unbroken shadow. A mile away the party turned into the low grounds and here the general met them riding his great roan and, as always when mounted, having the appearance of an officer on parade. He came up to the three figures in the rear and saluted them cheerily. His old spirits seemed to have returned. They entered into a broad valley that had been fallow for several years. Along the little stream that threaded its way down the middle with zigzag indecision, grew the southern cane from 6 to 15 feet high; the mass a hundred yards broad in places, and at others narrowing down to fords. This cane growing erect is impenetrable for horses. The rest of the valley, half a mile wide, was grown up in sage, broomstraw, little pines and briars. The general shape of the ground was that of the letter Y, the stem being the creek, and the arms its two feeders leading in from the hills. To start at the lower end of the letter, travel up and out one arm to its end, and return to the starting point, meant an eight mile ride, if the cat kept to the cane as was likely. It was a mile across from arm to arm, without cover except about an acre of sparse, low cane half way between. When Mary came up to the leading riders, with her escort, they were discussing a fact that all seemed to regard as significant. One of the old dogs, "Leader," had uttered a sharp, quick yelp. All other dogs were focusing toward her; their dark figures visible here and there as they threaded the tangled way. Suddenly an angry, excited baying in shrill falsetto was heard, and Evan shouted: "That's my puppy Carlo! Where are your English dogs?" "Wait," said one of the party. "The English dogs will be in at start and finish." Suddenly "Leader" opened fullmouthed, a second ahead of her puppy, and the next instant, pandemonium broke loose. Forty-seven dogs were racing in full cry up the stream. A dozen excited men were following, with as much noise and skill as they could command.