The Story of Kennett | Page 6

ringing cry of the hounds.
When they reached the Wilmington road, the cry swerved again to the
left, and most of the hunters, with Barton at their head, took the
highway in order to reach the crossroad to New-Garden more
conveniently. Gilbert and Fortune alone sprang into the opposite field,
and kept a straight southwestern course for the other branch of Redley
Creek. The field was divided by a stout thorn-hedge from the one
beyond it, and the two horsemen, careering neck and neck, glanced at
each other curiously as they approached this barrier. Their respective
animals were transformed; the unkempt manes were curried by the
wind, as they flew; their sleepy eyes were full of fire, and the splendid
muscles, aroused to complete action, marked their hides with lines of
beauty. There was no wavering in either; side by side they hung in
flight above the hedge, and side by side struck the clean turf beyond.
Then Fortune turned his head, nodded approvingly to Gilbert, and
muttered to himself: "He's a gallant fellow,--I'll not rob him of the
brush." But he laughed a short, shrill, wicked laugh the next moment.
Before they reached the creek, the cry of the hounds ceased. They
halted a moment on the bank, irresolute.
"He must have gone down towards the snuff-mill," said Gilbert, and
was about to change his course.
"Stop," said the stranger; "if he has, we've lost him any way. Hark!

hurrah!"
A deep bay rang from the westward, through the forest. Gilbert shouted:
"The lime-quarry!" and dashed across the stream. A lane was soon
reached, and as the valley opened, they saw the whole pack heading
around the yellow mounds of earth which marked the locality of the
quarry. At the same instant some one shouted in the rear, and they saw
Mr. Alfred Barton, thundering after, and apparently bent on
diminishing the distance between them.
A glance was sufficient to show that the fox had not taken refuge in the
quarry, but was making a straight course up the centre of the valley.
Here it was not so easy to follow. The fertile floor of Tuffkenamon,
stripped of woods, was crossed by lines of compact hedge, and,
moreover, the huntsmen were not free to tear and trample the springing
wheat of the thrifty Quaker farmers. Nevertheless, one familiar with the
ground could take advantage of a gap here and there, choose the
connecting pasture-fields, and favor his course with a bit of road, when
the chase swerved towards either side of the valley. Gilbert Potter soon
took the lead, closely followed by Fortune. Mr. Barton was perhaps
better mounted than either, but both horse and rider were heavier, and
lost in the moist fields, while they gained rapidly where the turf was
firm.
After a mile and a half of rather toilsome riding, all three were nearly
abreast. The old tavern of the Hammer and Trowel was visible, at the
foot of the northern hill; the hounds, in front, bayed in a straight line
towards Avondale Woods,--but a long slip of undrained bog made its
appearance. Neither gentleman spoke, for each was silently tasking his
wits how to accomplish the passage most rapidly. The horses began to
sink into the oozy soil: only a very practised eye could tell where the
surface was firmest, and even this knowledge was but slight advantage.
Nimbly as a cat Gilbert sprang from the saddle, still holding the
pummel in his right hand, touched his horse's flank with the whip, and
bounded from one tussock to another. The sagacious animal seemed to
understand and assist his manoeuvre. Hardly had he gained firm ground
than he was in his seat again, while Mr. Barton was still plunging in the

middle of the bog.
By the time he had reached the road, Gilbert shrewdly guessed where
the chase would terminate. The idlers on the tavern-porch cheered him
as he swept around the corner; the level highway rang to the galloping
hoofs of his steed, and in fifteen minutes he had passed the long and
lofty oak woods of Avondale. At the same moment, fox and hounds
broke into full view, sweeping up the meadow on his left. The animal
made a last desperate effort to gain a lair among the bushes and loose
stones on the northern hill; but the hunter was there before him, the
hounds were within reach, and one faltering moment decided his fate.
Gilbert sprang down among the frantic dogs, and saved the brush from
the rapid dismemberment which had already befallen its owner. Even
then, he could only assure its possession by sticking it into his hat and
remounting his horse. When he looked around, no one was in sight, but
the noise of hoofs was heard crashing through the wood.
Mr.