It was six A.M.when my youngest brother and I started from the foot of Pedro to ascend the mountain.The path is three miles long, through jungle the whole way to the summit.There were fresh tracks of elk near the top of the mountain; the dew lay heavily upon the leaves, and the scent was evidently strong, as Merriman and Ploughboy, the two leading hounds, dashed off upon it, followed by the whole pack.In a few minutes we heard them in full cry about a quarter of a mile from us, going straight down the hill.Giving them a good holloa, we started off down the path at a round pace, and in less than a quarter of an hour we were at the foot of the mountain on the plain.Here we found a number of people who had headed the elk (a fine buck) just as he was breaking cover, and he had turned back, taking off to some other line of country at a great pace, as we could not hear even a whimper.This was enough to make a saint swear, and, blessing heartily the fellows who had headed him, we turned back and retraced our steps up the mountain to listen for the cry of the pack among the numerous ravines which furrow the sides.
It was of no use; we could hear nothing but the mocking chirp of birds and the roaring of the mountain torrents.Not a sign of elk or dogs.The greyhounds were away with the pack, and knowing that the dogs would never leave him till dark, we determined not to give them up.No less than three times in the course of the day did we reascend the mountain to listen for them in vain.We went up to the top of the Newera Ellia Pass, in the hope of hearing them in that direction, but with the same want of success.Miles of ground were gone over to no purpose.Scaling the steep sides of the mountains at the back of the barracks, we listened among the deep hollows on the other side, but again we were disappointed; the sound of the torrents was all that we could hear.
Descending again to the plain, we procured some breakfast at a friend's house, and we started for the Matturatta Plains.These plains are about three or four miles from the barracks; and I had a faint hope that the buck might have crossed over the mountain, and descended into this part of the country to a river which flows through the patinas.We now mounted our horses, having been on foot all the morning.It was three o'clock P.M., and, with little hope of finding the dogs, we rode along the path towards the Matturatta Plains.
We had just entered the forest, when we met a young hound returning along the path with a wound from a buck's horn in the shoulder.There was now no doubt of the direction, and we galloped along the path towards the plains as hard as we could go.About half way to the plains, to my joy I saw an immense buck's track in the path going in the same direction; the toes were spread wide apart, showing the pace at which he had been going; and there were dogs' tracks following him, all as fresh as could be.This was a gladdening sight after a hard day's work, and we gave a random cheer to encourage any dogs that might be within hearing, rattling our horses over the ground at their best speed.
At last the plains were reached.We pulled up our panting steeds, and strained every nerve to hear the cry of the hounds.The snorting of the horses prevented our hearing any distant sound, and I gave a holloa and listened for some answering voice from a dog.Instead of a sound, Bran and Lucifer suddenly appeared.This was conclusive evidence that the pack was somewhere in this direction, and we rode out into the plain and again listened.Hark to old Smut! there was his deep voice echoing from the opposite hills.Yoick to him, Bran! forward to him, Lucifer! and away the greyhounds dashed towards the spot from which the sound proceeded.The plain forms a wide valley, with a river winding through the centre, and we galloped over the patinas after the greyhounds in full speed.There was no mistaking the bay.I could now distinguish Merriman's fine voice in addition to that of old Smut, and a general chorus of other tongues joined in, till the woods rang again.The horses knew the sport, and away they went, but suddenly over went old Jack, belly-deep in a bog, and sent me flying over his head.There is nothing like companionship in an accident, and Momus accordingly pitched upon his nose in the same bog, my brother describing a fine spread-eagle as he sprawled in the soft ground, We were close to the bay; the horses extricated themselves directly, and again mounting we rode hard to the spot The buck was at bay in the river, and the exhausted dogs were yelling at him from the bank.The instant that we arrived and cheered them on, old Smut came from the pack towards us with an expression of perfect delight; he gave himself two or three rolls on the grass, and then went to the fight like a lion.The buck, however, suddenly astonished the whole pack by jumping out of the river, and, charging right through them, he started over the plain towards the jungle, with the hounds after him.He had refreshed himself by standing for so long in the cold stream, while the dogs, on the contrary, were nearly worn out.He reached the jungle with the whole pack at his heels; but after doubling backward and forward in the forest for about five minutes, we heard the crash in the bushes as he once more rushed towards the plain, and he broke cover in fine style, with the three greyhounds, Bran, Lucifer and Lena, at his haunches.In another instant he was seized, but he fell with such a shock that it threw the greyhounds from their hold, and recovering himself with wonderful quickness, he went down the slope towards the river at a tremendous pace.The greyhounds overtook him just as he gained the steep bank of the river, and they all rolled over in a confused crowd into the deep water.
The next moment the buck was seen swimming proudly down the river, with the pack following him down the stream in full cry.Presently he gained his footing, and, disdaining farther flight, he turned bravely upon the hounds.
