For an hour-and-a-half we burst him along, and not one fox in a thousand could have stood before us for such a time and over such a country, in which there was not so much as a spinny to hide him; but he kept on at just the same rate, and a halloo, every now and then, told us that he was only just a-head. Several of us were tailed off, and some never reached the main body at all. The burst was so quick, that the field, too, couldn’t get well away with us, and the consequence was that nearly all the horses were run to a stand-still before getting their second wind. “I begin to think,” said Trimbush, still the leader of the chosen few, “that his point’s Gretwith rock, and if so, there’s not a bush to hold him for fifteen miles as straight as the crow flies.” “He can’t last the distance,” replied Rubicon. “We shall run him from scent to view in less than another mile.” “So I think,” rejoined Wildboy. “His red rag’s hanging from his jaws worse than mine, I know, and that feels like dried chalk.” “We shall come to soil presently,” returned Loyalty. “There’s the Loam stream not far a-head.” “Egad!” added Dashwood, “but I wish it was in my next stride. I’m blistered with thirst.” “I shouldn’t be surprised,” said Trimbush, “to find him try an artful move at the Loam. Be careful, my hearts, and don’t flash forward on the opposite bank. Feel for it as you go, and make good inch by inch, rather than be in doubt. We shall save time by the trouble.” Thus schooled, we took especial care, upon refreshing ourselves in the Loam, to follow the instructions given, and our first cast was along the verge down stream, which, also, chanced to be down wind. “This is his line,” said Trimbush, evidently puzzled, “and yet----” “Let us try up wind,” interrupted Dashwood, “he may have headed, as he’s a sinking one.” “You flatter yourself,” returned the old hound; “he has as much life in him as will serve to test your pluck and powers for an hour to come.” “But he may have headed back,” observed Wildboy. “He _may_,” quietly added Trimbush; “but make your work good as ye go. I think,” continued he, “that we have cast to the right, which was the probable line, far enough. Now let us try the left.” Will Sykes, Ned Adams, and the Squire, now came in sight; but their horses could not be spurred out of a trot. Their heads were between their knees, and their tails shook as if they must drop off. “How beautifully they work,” I heard the Squire say as he threw himself from the saddle. “Let them alone; pray let them alone.” We had now made the cast as far to the left as we had done to the right, and yet we could not hit him off. “I’m sure he’s headed back,” said Wildboy, confidently. “We’ll try,” replied Trimbush; “but I doubt it.” “It’s now quite clear,” said the Squire, as we failed to touch the scent in our track, “that the hounds can make nothing of it. They have had a fair trial; now let me see what you can do, William.”