CHAPTER XXV.
A CRUEL FINISH.
EVERY hound having at length sniffed and snuffed, and sniffed and snuffed, to satiety, Solomon now essays to assist them by casting round the flat of smoke-infected ground. He makes the ‘head good first, which manouvre hitting off the scent, he is hailed and applauded as a conqueror. Never was such a huntsman as Solomon! First harrier huntsman in England! Worth any money is a huntsman! The again clamorous pack bustle up the sheep-path, at such a pace as sends the leaders hurrying far beyond the scent. Then the rear rush to the front, and a general spread of bewildered, benighted, confusion ensues.
“Where has she got to?” is the question.
“Doubled!” mutters the disappointed Major, reining in his steed.
“Squatted!” exclaims Mr. Rintoul, who always sported an opinion.
“Hold hard!” cries Mr. Trail, though they were all at a standstill; but then he wished to let them know he was there.
The leading hounds retrace their steps, and again essay to carry the scent forward. The second effort is attended with the same result as the first. They cannot get it beyond the double.
“Cunning animal!” mutters the Major, eyeing their endeavours.