A whistle came from the whip on ahead.
“He’s away,” said Lionel, galloping on.
They reached the edge of the cover just in time to see the buck trotting over the Salisbury Road, heading for the finest galloping ground in the Forest. The tufters followed.
“Hold hard, old boys!” roared the whip.
The Master, very hot and red in the face, emerged from the woodlands. He collected his tufters and jogged back with them to the pack, about half a mile distant. The Squire joined Lionel.
“We lay the pack on here,” he said to Margot. “We shall have a gallop, and I shan’t see the end of it unless I nick in somewhere. You stick to Lionel like wax. If he doesn’t ride at the top of the hunt, I’ll disown him.”
Lionel dismounted and loosened his horse’s girths. Margot nibbled at a sandwich, as she waited for her second horse and the pack. Soon the Master appeared with hounds trotting at his heels. The buck had a start of about fifteen minutes.
“He’ll need it,” predicted Lionel, as he tossed the little lady on to her fresh mount. “The going is good at first, but if we get to Hasleys’ look out for ruts. Sit well back and go at ’em slow and at right angles. If your gee pecks he may save himself.”
“Sounds thrilling!”
“A gallop over heather is thrilling. And you’ll be with hounds as long as we’re in the open. I’ve seen thrusters from your country go very pawky over our moors. But your horse can be trusted.”