"Whip them on to us now!" shouted Keefe. "Now! What is the 'Come in' note, Dillon?—which, this or that?"
"He is just like a pink puff-ball," gasped Gheena, wiping her eyes. "Just! Oh, Darby, what is the 'Come in' note?"
"If he expects me to blow in or out now, I can't," gulped Darby. "Blow away yourself, Keefe; you'll strike it in time."
"If he stopped that poisonous row, they'd come to my whistle," shouted Dearest George, stuttering furiously.
"They have the thrail!" shrilled a small voice wildly.
At that moment Beauty flung a long throaty yowl; Grandjer, dashing to her, echoed and confirmed it with his nondescript yelp. Beauty spoke again emphatically, and now Daisy threw her tongue.
Every hound outside quivered to the sound.
"Hurreh! Hurreh! Hurreh! Folly on there! Nose him out! In with ye all! Get on to it, Parnellite! Schald to ye, Spinsther! Hurreh! Hurreh! Over! Over!"
A mixed pack of hounds and followers dashed towards the cover. There was no hanging back now. Home Ruler's huge body caught Dearest George's legs; his footing was precarious. Spinster followed the charge. Leaping to get clear, George Freyne lost his balance, grabbed at Keefe, and the two went face foremost into the thick gorse, floundering there furiously.
"Well done! Success! Back him up, Colleen! Hurreh on!" shrieked a jealous onlooker.