steep
and railed off on either side by high palisades. Once over this, we
turned at right angles, and ran for half a mile close alongside the
line, and past Wincot station. Here it was necessary to recross the
line (down a cutting this time), and as we were doing so we caught
sight, on our left, of the leading hounds scrambling to the top of the
embankment, which we had passed only a minute or two before.

Clear of the railway, there remained a good steady piece of work cut out
for us to reach home, across an awful country, full of hedges and
ditches, and as hilly as a pie-crust.

But Birch and I were well in the humour of the thing by this time, and
determined it should not be our fault if the "great hunt" of this year
ended in a victory for the hounds. So we spurted for nearly a mile,
jumping most of the narrow ditches and low hedges that crossed our path,
and making as straight a course as the hilly ground allowed of. But,
despite all our efforts, the occasional glimpses which we caught of our
pursuers showed us that we were unable to shake off four or five of the
leading hounds, who, with Forwood at their head, were coming on at a
great pace, and, if not gaining on us, at least not losing ground.

This would never do. It would be all up if things went on so, we could
see; so the cunning Birch had once again to resort to his dodges to gain
time.

Suddenly altering our track, and leaving the fields, he struck a dusty
lane, which wound in and out in the direction of Parkhurst. Now, as
this was a very dusty and a very chalky lane, and as the wind was
blowing the dust about very freely, it was easy to see why the artful
Birch made use of it on the present occasion. Our white scraps of
paper, falling on the white road, and being fallen on by the white dust,
had a good chance of escaping detection, unless looked after very
carefully; and to make matters more secure, we dodged off into the
fields, and back again into the lane, pretty often, leaving our pursuers
a ditch to jump each time.

This manoeuvre answered fairly well, for the next time we saw the hounds
they were searching about by the side of a ditch for our track, a good
way to the rear.

We had now to face the hardest bit of work of the afternoon. The last
two miles home were over a perfectly flat bit of country--so flat that
the hounds would have us in view nearly all the way, and, consequently,
to dodge or double would be simply useless. Our onl