Gheena also left the track. One was glad of any excitement; hunting out of Castle Freyne and the bumpy going was practice for the youngster. It would do him good, too, to flounder on the ugly little banks.
Darby looked round. On his heels came fair, pale Psyche, radiant with sheer joy, her reins flapping, her whole mind full of the rush of the pack in front, of the towling, yapping notes as Home Ruler led and every hound gave tongue, the soft fresh air against her face, the whole unsounded mystery of it in her blood. At his left Gheena, the too eager youngster, held well together, the girl sitting down in her saddle, her hands low, giving and taking to her impetuous mount, both so young, so full of sheer keen life, both with all their limbs their own, both unknowing trouble.
The glow in their faces lashed the Master with a whip of bitterness. Here, as they rode, he was on an equality, able to ride a hunt as well as they could, to sit his horse as easily; but if any difficulty came, if he had to get down, he would be Darby the cripple, limping and crumbling through life--asking for help to get back on to his horse.
"Ou--ich!" was the exclamation trailing in his wake as they came to a nasty trappy little bank, a mere mound of boggy earth flung up and held loosely together by coarse grass, bramble vines and heather. The bay, ridden all loosely at it, did his own steadying and propping, the latter with a sufficient swift decision to fling Psyche out on to his neck, where she balanced precariously, gripping at the breastplate.
"Ooo-iche!" came a happy crow of triumph as the little figure got back into the saddle. "Oh, Mr. Dillon, he full-stopped quite suddenly."
"Hold his head," grinned Darby. "Full-stop him yourself, or you'll be in a ditch."
The fox tried the spinny, and as Phil upon the cart-pony put it, took a swee-gee out around the hills. A more abominable country it would be difficult to imagine--lumps of tussocky ground rising out of sullen little boggy places, bogs on the summits of the hills and loose slaty stones, with a few tortuous tracks showing the ways of moderate safety here and there.
With the fox-hounds flashing over it, it took all one knew to keep near them; and if one let hounds go, they might top the hill and go on down to one of the best pieces of country. With the scratch pack yowling solemnly it was a pretty sight to watch them--every hound hunting; now Beauty ahead, now Daisy; again dock-tailed Grandjer, throwing his blended tongue, half hound and half terrier; Home Ruler quite exhausted, towling melodiously at the rear of them all.