The fox had been gone some time, and scent, the mysterious, was not too good. Home Ruler, dashing light-heartedly in front, threw up her big head suddenly. The remainder of the pack, all hunting zealously, towled into view, coming undisturbed through the horses. Grandjer dropped his cub and galloped down to his companions. It was his sharp yap which rang out as he passed Home Ruler and spoke on the line. Then "Yow-Ow," the long-drawn musical harrier notes, as at a fair pace they pressed on. The going was light on the top of the hill, the banks fair and sound. What matter if Dandy's pup was leading, his docked stump quivering! They were hunting. Slowly but surely they dipped into Durra, a big place in a hollow, and circled round it until it was evident that the unpressed fox had gone back to covert.
"We'll be a long time killing one this way," remarked Darby, watching the pack spread out as they checked.
"And if we do not kill, we are practically of no use." George Freyne would have been supremely happy if his face had not worried him. He knew the line of gaps coming across; he had ridden, as became a Master, in the van, and he was now wondering if blowing his whistle would be a good thing just to remind people of his position.
"The men up at the covert said they were looking for a kill, Darby."
"And we might have had one," said Darby, "if we'd tackled that cub." He looked guiltily at his companions and Barty coughed.
"Beauty has it! Listen to her now! Hurreh on, Beauty! All to Beauty!" yelled little Andy.
The child had lost his cap, his hands were bleeding. The Rat had gone exactly as he chose, but Andy had in these crowded minutes tasted nectar.
That ecstatic jump on to the high bounds bank, the crawl along the top, all but swept off by a branch, the blissful leap straight off the road over a coped wall, with everyone else going in at the gate, the bumping rush through the crowd at the beginning—all these things had gone as wine to young Andy's head.
Might the war go on for ever if it meant his having the Rat to ride on.
Violet Weston, a little ruffled, a brickish red forge showing through the powder on her cheeks, rode up close to Keefe.