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3 dif ia j le
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Bellefonte, Pa., October 16, 1981.
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THE WAY TO HAPPINESS
I met a man the other day
Whose sunny manner seemed to say
That he had found the Happy Way.
1 saked the secret of his smile,
He gave a thoughtful look the while
And answered somewhat in this style.
Six things have I that spell content,
Six things that mean a life well spent,
That make for real accomplishment:
A Peaceful Mind,
A Grateful Heart,
A Love for all that's true
A Helpful Hand,
Real Tolerance
And Lots of Things to Do.
I took my way with courage new
With kindlier feelings, broader view,
Trying to think his answer through.
That man had found the secret key
Of how to live and what to be,
And passed it on to you and me.
Then let us try his simple plan
Of Faith in God and Love to man.
And imitate him if we can.
S. W. Graffin
SPORT!
Sam Chadwick, who earned his
living precariously by farm work
and less precariously by shooting
other people's partridges and rab-
bits, leaned over the white garden
gate.
“Morin’, Captain Ridley,” he said.
Ridley, a lean, wiry man of forty-
five, weather-beaten and clean-shav-
en, paused in his task of cutting
down dead delphiniums and holly-
hocks and lupines.
“Mornin’, Captain Ridley,” he said. '¥
“Doin’ a bit of tidyin’, sir?”
“Yes. ‘This rubbish will have to
be burned.”
“Ah!” said Chadwick. He dug
his yellow teeth into a lump of
plug tobacco and tugged and twaist-
ed. “You got to keep on all the
time if you want a garden to be a
garden.”
Ridley went on with his work.
“Fine, 'untin’ day,” said Chadwick,
who was in no hurry to be gone.
“Good scent. 'Ark at them ’'ounds
givin’ tongue. That'll be over to
Blackcap Woods. 'Ear 'em, sir?”
“Yes, I hear them,” said Ridley.
He straightened his back and gazed
through puckered eyelids in the di-
rection indicated by Sam Chadwick's
nod.
The day was fine and clear. Not
even in England is the month of
November always cold and wet and
foggy. The gale of the week be-
fore had blown itself out; a soft
breeze blew from the southwest; the
sun shone on the vivid green of the
meadows and the brown bare woods
and the distant blue hills.
“Good ‘untin’ country, this,” said
Chadwick. He turned and spat over
his shoulder.
“So they say,” Ridley said.
“Grand sport, fox-'untin'.”
“It's not. It isn't a sport at all.”
“Er?” said Chadwick, unable to
believe his ears. “Why, the 'ighest
in the land goes fox-'untin.' Foxes
is vermin."
“I know that. That's why if
foxes come prowling around my
Blase I shoot them, as the farmers
oo."
“If the master got to 'ear of it
'e'd 'ave a fit.”
“The master?"
“Ah! Colonel Sir James Brattle.
It's a wonder to me, Captain Rid-
ley, you don't go 'untin’ yourself.”
Ridley continued to stare across
the meadows toward the distant
woods through which some wretched
fox was being harried.
After a while Chadwick said:
“You've made changes in Sheepfold
since you bought the property, ain't
you, sir? For the better, all of
em.”
Ridley nodded his head. Yes, he
had made a good many changes,
and for the better. Chadwick was
right. He had laid down another
strip of lawn by the side of the
small apple orchard. He had plant-
ed dwarf and standard rosebushes.
He had cut down a large dead wil-
low tree that was an eyesore.
He had made a shrubbery and a
rockery. And the iron fences that
had divided the rambling garden
from the young pine wood and the
meadow that sloped down toward
Packman's Brook he had had taken
away, so that now he could walk
from the stone terrace in front of
his little old-fashioned red-brick
house across the lawn and through
the roses into his fifteen acres of
pasture with no intervening barrier.
He liked to feel he was free. Fences
and hedges irked him.
“You mean to settle 'ere perma-
nent?” Chadwick asked.
“I think so.’ Ridley cut a clump
of dead Canterbury bells and smiled
dryly at Chadwick's questioning.
The country folk regarded him
with suspicion, he knew, because he
was a stranger and because he did
not talk about himself and his hum-
drum past and because he had, so
far as they were aware, no friends.
But why should he talk, even to
Sam Chadwick, who like himself had
been at sea? What interest could
it be to anyone to know that he had
bought Sheepfold with the money
that had come to him through the
salvaging of the Armadillo in mid-
Atlantic with her passengers and
cargo? Why should he have to re-
veal his secret thoughts—his love of
England, the English country, the
fields and woods and hills, the ani-
mals and birds and flowers; his ha-
tred of shams and cruelty; and his
sorrow-—the loss of his wife just
when life offered him at last the
peace
craved ?
Chadwick, still leaning across the
gate, said: “’Ark at ’'em. Y bet
the 'unt’s put up about ten old fox-
es in Blackcap Woods. Last night
and quiet he had always
there 1 seen
puppies.”
“Qut late, weren't you?” said Rid-
‘when 1 came
‘two of 'em playin’
Ant Chadwick ed at him
shrewdly. “I was t. old
woman, she warn't well, I ad
to go to the village for a bottle of
medicine.” He went on not
wishing to be
“They're comin’ nearer. Mebbe we'll
see the pack in
‘unt followin. Ah! there's a sight,
Captain Ridley: all them fine ladies
and gentlemen on the blooded 'orses,
ridin’ after the one little red fox.”
“Why do you keep on calling me
‘Captain’ 2m
“Your man, Sharman, told Lord
Crowborough's keeper, Bob Harker,
down to the Brattle Arms last week.
Said you'd been a captgin at sea.”
“Sharman talks too much,” Rid-
ley said. He saw in the distance a
flash of scarlet against the brown of
the hillside. “They're coming this
way. You're right.”
“If we're lucky, mebbe we'll see
the kill.”
“If we're unlucky. I hate kill-
ing.” .
“Ow could us live without beef
and mutton and pork? Us couldn't
get on without killin’, Captain Rid-
ley, sir.”
A motor car drew up in the road
by the gate. Two goung girls in
fur coats and close-fitting hats
jumped out and without asking per-
mission climbed onto the bank and
stood high above the low hedge to
watch the hunt.
“Oh, there they are!” one of
them said. “Look!”
“Aren't they splendid?” said the
other. “The darlings.”
“We'll see them quite close. I
hope they kill.”
They called out excitedly and
clapped their hands. Their faces
were flushed; their eyes were bright.
They were young and happy, and
without either conscience or sense of
responsibility, Ridley thought bitter-
Chadwick beamed up at them.
“A fine sight, miss, ain't it?”
“Oh, hullo, Chadwick!” said one of
the girls. “It's you, is it? Any
partridges left for Father to shoot?”
“Now, Miss Diana, that ain't
fair,” said Chadwick. “I never
touched a partridge in my life, nor
a pheasant, neither.”
“Of course you didn't. They fly
into your pockets and die from try-
ing to eat that tobacco of yours.”
A laugh followed and a whispered
conversation. Presently Ridley
heard a clear, fresh young voice say
loudly:
“You there, hey? Are you the
gardener, without the hat?”
Ridley turend. “If you like,” he
said. “Yes.
“Do you think my friend and I
might cut across your garden and
out through the wood into the
‘field? We used to often before the
house was sold to—to whoever it is
owns it now.”
“Meaning me? Well, I'm sorry;
you can't.”
“Oh!” said the girl. “Oh, right-o!
I wasn't going to steal anything in
your stupid old garden, anyway.”
A bent, white-headed old man
rode up on a stout cob.
“My friends Diana and Elizabeth,
as I live!” he said. “And what's
the meaning of this? You young
people ought to be hunting, not fol.
lowing in an old rattletrap contrap-
tion like that. Why aren't you?"
“Rattletrap, indeed! It's the new-
est model there is and too marvel-
ously expensive for words. And if
it comes to that, Lord Crowborough,
why aren't you hunting yourself?”
“Do you think I wouldn't be if my
doctor would let me? The finest
sport in the world, and I'm too old
for it. By Jove, listen!”
Ridley moved away from the
white gate. He filled his wheel-bar-
row leisurely. How queer these
people were! he thought. The
countryside dead; fields lying fal-
low; farms going out of cultivation.
Did they care? They cared only
for the hunt and killing foxes.
Did they know what it was like
to be chased for miles across hos.
tile country? Did they know what
it was like to feel that one’s enemies
were close at one’s heels and that
the slightest slip would be death?
They didn't. They had no imagina-
tion.
He remained motionless, his eyes
gazing blankly into space. He was
no longer in his garden gathering
rubbish.
He saw himself a prisoner of war,
trying to escape, exhausted, famish-
ed, thirsty, hiding by day in dense
woods, waiting in sick suspense
while soldiers searched for him.
and then, when his hiding place had
been discovered, in the open, run-
ning, stumbling, falling, picking
himself up, panting for breath, hear-
ing a bullet whip past his head, pre-
pared to sell his life dearly, praying
that the end would come quickly.
He came to himself, gripped the
handles of the wheelbarrow and
moved off.
| “What a funny man that is,” said
Diana.
“He was very rude,” said Eliza-
beth.
“'E isn't just right in 'is ‘ead,
miss,” said Chadwick. ‘“E don't
like fox'untin’. 'E says it ought to
be stopped.”
“What's that? Stop fox-hunt.
ing!” said Lord Crowborough. “The
| feller's crazy”
Ridley tilted the wheelbarrow and
tipped its contents out on the heap
of rubbish. He was not pleased.
He felt he had made himself ridic- P
{ulous. He had been rude in speak-
ing so roughly to the two girls.
‘But what else, he argued, could he
have said? They were so sure of
themselves, they took it for grant-
ed they could do as they pleased.
On the other side of Packman's
Brook he could see the hounds mov-
|ing to and fro in the undergrowth.
A check. He hoped that the fox
(had got away.
A shrill yelp from a hound, fol-
lowed by the cries of the pack, told
him that they had picked up the
scent again. He sighed. He could
not keep the hunt off his property,
| though he would have liked to.
full cry and the
A sudden movement close at hand
‘made him glance quickly over his
‘shoulder. For an instant he did
'not know what had attracted his at-
tention, and then he saw creeping
the pine wood, ears thrust
its bushy tail dragging, a big
dog fox, covered with mud,
th showing in a snarl of fear,
on the lips, death in the red
Ridley watched without moving.
And then the fox said: “For God's
sake, help me! They'll find me and
kill me. Once your enemies might
‘have killed you. Have mercy.”
Ridley turned and gazed
‘across the meadow. He saw the
‘hounds, the scarlet coats, the gal.
loping horses.
The fox limped slowly toward the
rose garden.
“Tally’'o! Tally'o!”
Ridley reached the lawn. Al-
ready the hounds were among the
pine trees, tails erect, fangs gap-
ing for the blood which was theirs
by right. The fox cowered on the
grass, snarling in its terror, ex-
hausted, unable to run another yard.
yet ready to fight its last impos
sible fight against odds.
As the pack came charging fo-
gag
it
ward him, Ridley swung his rake
from left to right, from right tec
left, in a sweeping semi-circle. A
hound yelled in agony and sprawl-
ed on its back. Ridley heard
someone shouting angrily and con-
tinued to swing his rake. The
hounds were on every side of him,
snarling and yelping.
The huntsman, mounted on a big
white horse, galloped through the
pine trees, bawling: “What are you
doing, you fool!”
Ridley threw away his rake,
stooped and grabbed the bleeding
fox in his arms. The hounds leap-
ed at the fox. He called to the
huntsman: “Call off your hounds,
can't you! They're in my garden.”
The fox struggled in his arms. A
hound grabbed its paw. The fox
snapped savagely. Another hound
leaped. Ridley staggered and fell.
When he rose to his feet the fox
was in the midst of the pack being
torn to pieces.
The huntsman, a brown, wizened
man, sat his horse, grinning. “Serves
you right, you fool! Teach you a
lesson. You hurt my hounds. I
hope they hurt you.”
Ridley advanced. Without know-
ing exactly what he intended, he
seized the huntsman by the knee
and ankle and, paying no heed and
to the hunting crop that beat
against his head and shoulders, he
dragged him forcibly from the sad-
dle
The white horse plunged and trod
on one of the hounds. The hunts-
man, livid with rage, lifted his crop
once more. Ridley punched him in
the face twice and he sat back in
the midst of dwarf roses.
“Get up,” Ridley said.
A stalwart, red-faced man in scar-
let coat and white cord breeches
rode up on a big brown horse and
dismounted hurriedly. *You,” he
said in a high-pitched voice, strid-
ing toward Ridley, “what the devil
do you mean by knocking my hunts-
man down? Has he hurt you, Dodd?
If he has, by heaven, I'll cripple
him!"
Ridley knew that this was the
great Sir James Brattle, the Master
of the Hunt, but he said dryly:
“Who are you? Why are you tres-
passing all over my garden? Get
out at once.”
“I've a good mind to give you a
damn good hiding!” said Sir James.
An insane desire swept over Rid-
ley to feel Sir James Brattle's soft,
puffy face under his hard fists. He
moved a step forward. “Hit me,”
he said. He moved a step forward.
“Hit me,” he said. “Just once.”
A supercilious, pink young man
caught hold of Ridley. “Keep
away, Sir James. I've got him.”
He swung Ridley around roughly.
“If you want trouble, my man, you
can have it.”
Ridley broke the grip on his arm
easily. “I've whipped better men
than you, son, with one hand.”
He looked past the humiliated,
blushing young man at the circle of
well-dressed men and women on
horseback and saw in their eyes
contempt and curiosity, and he
laughed. He looked at Sir James
Brattle, struggling to break loose
from the friends who were holding
m.
“You people have always done as
you liked, haven't you?" he said.
“But you won't do it much longer.
We're getting wise to you. What
right have you to come on a man's
private property and ruin his gar-
den under the pretense of sport?
Your horses are more civilized than
any of you.
“There was no fences, Sir James,”
said the huntsman. “’'Ow was we
to know we was in 'is garden? 'E
tried to get the fox from the ’'ounds
and couldn't” He snarled at Rid-
ley, “You ain't 'eard the last of
this. I'll get you yet.”
| “Excellent,” said Ridley.
!and man of the same mind.
if there had been fences, you and
your gang wouldn't be here, would
you? I've no right to come between
you and your kill? Well, if it's
any consolation, I couldn't stop you,
though I did my best. And now,
get out of here damned quick, you
and ur women and the
blasted lot of you!”
Sir James Brattle climbed slow-
into the saddle. The horse
“Damn you, stand still!”
ly
ranced.
he shouted.
| “Here, you,” he said, glaring at
Ridley. “I'd have apologized for
| hurting your cabbage patch, but
|now-—damn you!” He flung a five-
| pound note on the grass. “Take
|it and buy yourself something—an.
the sooner you're out of thiscoun-
[try the better. I'll make the place
80 hot for you you'll be sorry you!
|ever came here. You're no sports.
Iman. You don’t understand
| meaning of the word.”
| He spoke gruffly to his huntsman,
who had also mounted. “That
scarecrow, talking to me like that!
| Let's go.”
out
Chadwick began to:
“Master
And
whole
the |
| Ridley stood in the middle of his
‘ruined lawn and watched the glossy
! horses tramping across his shrub-
He felt sick and
He had hit the huntsman,
poor devil! He wished he had hit
Sir James Brattle He wished he
‘had saved the fox. What swine
English people could be when they
‘had money!
“Hadn't you better come into the
house, sir?” said Mrs. Sharman
“You ought to rest awhile.”
“You're bleedin,’ sir, did you know
it?” said Sharman.
Sam Chadwick approached, hold-
ing the five-pound note. “This ‘ere,
sir—I dunno as you want it. Iwas
thinkin'—"
“I do want it,” said Ridley. It'll
have to be given back to Sir James.”
“I warned you,” said Chadwick.
“You made a rare enemy today, sir.
Sir James, ‘e's a bad man to cross.
'E won't forgive you for what you
said to 'im.”
“That'll do,” Ridley said.
need to remind me."
“Look 'ere, you, Chadwick,” Shar-
man said; “you clear out.”
“I'll clear out, yes,” said Chad-
wick, “but Captain Ridley, you
mind what I said, as man to man,
friendly like. England is England.
Soprt's sport. You can't think
you'll come ‘ere interferin' with
lawful customs and upsettin’ the
'unt. Fox-'untin' is England, sir.
Where would the country be if it
wasn't for fox.'untin'?”
“Ah!” said Ridley. “Where?”
“A fine sport, finest in the world.
That old fox they killed, sir, 'e was
game.”
“He was dead-beat.
run.”
“No wonder ’'e couldn't run. 'E
led them a pretty dance, 'e did. A
matter of nine miles, point to point,
so they said. No wonder ’'e couldn't
run.”
' “That's what I said,” said Ridley.
“He couldn't run and they killed
him.”
| Chadwick looked puzzled. “Well,
that's all right, sir. *E couldn't run
'no more because 'e was tired, so of
course they killed 'im."”
Ridley turned and went into the
house.
Sir James Brattle sprawled in a
big armchair in his library beforea
roaring log fire. On the little table
by his side were a decanter of Irish
whisky, a siphon of soda water and
a glass. Between his lips was a
cigar. On his knee was a book.
He was a big, healthy man, aged
thirty-seven; his tastes and pleas-
ures were simple. He had an ap-
petite for good food and drink and
fresh air. He understood how to
handle men. He was afraid
nothing. He lived for fox-hunting
and the company of fine horses and
not quite so fine women.
His day in the open had pleasant-
ly tired him. A hot bath and a
good dinner and a bottle of wine
had softened his mood. He worea
dinner jacket, a soft white shirt and
collar, a black bow tie, dress trous-
ers, black patent shoes with square
toes. And as he puffed at his
cigar he thought of the maniac who
had tried to come between the pack
and their kill.
A man who despised fox-hunting'
His lips twisted into a sneer. What
a fool the feller must be! What
was England coming to when men
like that could interfere with oth-
er men's sport? By heaven, he
ought to be horsewhipped!
The lower classes needed a les-
son. Interfering, sanctimonious hum-
bugs! But that feller, he had some
nerve.
Sir James Brattle laughed. He
was too tired, too good-natured, too
replete with good food and drink to
‘be angry.
And then as he gazed dreamily
into the red glow of the fire he
heard the sound of the door being
opened and closed and the key
clicking in the lock.
He turned and saw a man ap-
proaching him. “Who the devil
are you?" he said.
“Good evening,” said the man.
Sir James sat upright in his chair.
The man was thin and tired-look-
ing. His hair was dark, his face
was pale, his eyes were hard and his
mouth was stern. He was dressed
in a shabby blue suit. There was
something about him that was op-
pressive, even sinister. And where,
Sir James wondered, had he seen
him before, and when?
The man said: “I wanted to speak
to you on business.”
Sir James found his voice. His
astonishment gave place to anger.
“What do you mean by coming
here?” he said and half rose to his
feet.
But the man said, “Sit down, Sir
James!" so sternly that Sir James,
a trifle dazed, obeyed him.
And then he remembered.
“Why, by heaven!” he said. “It's
the crazy fool who held up the
hunt.”
“Yes, Sir James,” said the man;
| “it's the crazy fool who held up the
hunt and tried to save a fox from
being torn to pieces. I've come
here to have a talk with you. My
Iname is Ridley.”
| Sir James was not afraid, but he
felt that this madman Ridley, with
the queer eyes, was going to be
‘troublesome. He was wiry and
lean and possibly stronger than he
looked and it was advisable, Sir
James decided, to avold unnecessary
discussion.
“I think you'd better
said. “You understand me, don't
you? If you're not out of here in
ten seconds I'll rouse the house.”
“Sir James, you won't rouse the
'house. You can't. There's no one
to hear. Your wife is in London.
So are your children. Your butler
has gone down to the villagz.
saw him.
course.
“No
He couldn't
80," he
James.
‘fox you killed in my
of |
gerous. He was mad.
| cook and the two maids are in the
kitchen. You can yell your head
off and they won't hear you.”
“What do you want?” said Sir
“I came to talk to you about that
garden.
spite of what
I said today I'm to make
te com;
pensation—
“Oh, that—that's not what I'm
here for.” Ridley put a crumpled
five.pound note on the table. “This
is yours. You dropped it today. Sir
James, you said something to me
that I resent.”
“What was it?”
“You said I was no sportsman.”
“Oh, said Sir James. He wonder-
ed what was coming now. “Well?”
“I think I am. That's what we've
got to decide.
that hunting the fox
sport?”
“Of course it is,” said Sir James
shortly.
“The finest sport in the world?”
“Yes.”
“And you like it?”
“Of course I do.”
“Does the fox like it?
the thing that interests me,
James.”
Sir James had intended to say.
“Don't be absurd!” but he said, in-
sead: “In the main, at the start of
a run, the fox enjoys the excitement
of the hunt as much as the hounds
“Listen, Ridley, in
”
is really a
That's
Sir
enjoy it.”
“Splendid. The fox likes being
hunted. It's extraordinary, isn't
it? But that poor brute in my gar-
den today didn't seem to like it.
He must have been different from
ordinary foxes, don't you think?”
Sir James shrugged. “At the end,
when he knews he's trapped, he
doesn't enjoy it, naturally. But
then, no more does a soldier enjoy
being in a battle.”
“How well you put it, Sir James!
The soldier in battle. You were on
the staff, weren't you?”
“] was, at the end of the war,
but when I first went out I was in
the cavalry.”
“Cavalry didn't see much fighting,
did they?”
“You're wasting my time.”
“I apologize. We were talking
about the war. You said that
soldiers didn't enjoy being in a bat-
tle. That's quite true. And the
prisoner of war (trying to escape
doesn't enjoy escaping.”
“What on earth has that got to
do with it? I don't suppose a con-
vict enjoys trying to escape from
Dartmoor.”
“I dare say not. I've not beena
convict but I've been a prisoner of
war.”
“And you tried to escape?”
“I did escape,” said Ridley.
Sir James was growing more and
more uneasy. This man was dan-
“You were
talking about fox-hunting, I think,”
said Sir James.
“Fox-hunting. Yes. We were
talking about fox-hunting. You
know, Sir James, perhaps I've been
prejudiced against hunting without
adequate cause. I've a very good
mind to—to try it.”
“I's sure you'd be welcome,” said
Sir James. Confound him! he
thought. Welcome! He'd welcome
‘him with a hunting crop laid about
his head.
“I dare say I attach too great an
importance to the feelings of the
animal that is being hunted.”
“I'm sure you do,” said Sir James
y
“And so today, when that fox was
killed in my garden, I allowed my-
self to be unduly carried away. But
since then I've been thinking that
possibly—possibly it is this hunting
spirit, this love of the chase—that
has made the English what they are
the envied of every other race. I
take it that we are envied, Sir
James?"
“Oh, undoubtedly,” said Sir James,
surer than ever that he was dealing
with a madman. “Undoubtedly.”
“The fox likes it, you tell me. 1
didn't like it when I was running,
but perhaps I haven't developed the
sporting instinct sufficiently. I've a
good mind to go hunting. Will
you come with me, Sir James?”
“When?”
“Now.”
“Now! What do you mean? To-
night? in the dark? With this
wind blowing?"
“Yes. It's going to rain, too.
That makes it all the better.
“Look here,” said Sir James.
“I've been patient with you, Ridley.
but it's gone far enough. You
can't hunt a fox in weather like
this, and in the dark.”
“It isn't a fox I'm going to hunt
Sir James.”
“Then what are you going tc
hunt 7"
‘I'm going to hunt you.”
Sir James saw the big service
revolver in Ridley’'s hand and felt
rather faint. The man intended tc
kill him.
“Shall we go now?” Ridley said.
“No, you won't need a hat or a
coat, and the shoes you have on are
stout enough.”
“Stop playing the fool! That
revolver isn't leoded and you know
it.”
“It is loaded. Look.”
“With blank cartridges, perhaps.
You wouldn't dare.”
“Wouldn't I? Do you know bul-
lets when you see them? Look.
Sir James. Are these bullets?
They are, aren't they? All right,
don't let's waste any more time.
It's getting late.”
For the moment the violence of
the gale was lulled. A voice said
clearly and harshly: “Sir James, if
you're not out of that covert in 8
minute—sixty seconds—I'll shoot at
you.”
Sir James shuddered and mois-
tened his dry lips with his tongue
and swore softly.
He stood in the midst of a thick-
et and looked first one way and then
Your grooms and your killed.
the other. He knew that Ridley,
the madman with the revolver, wae
watching him and he knew that if
I he did not obey him he would be
The hunt could have but
chauffeur are in the stables playing two endings: either he would escape
| cards. I saw them, too.
The | in the darkness or he would die. |
£
been a famous runner;
But would you say years.
ed.
'80 am L
stood up once more
‘raced southward down the
g
earlier in the day
taken the same path on the
Hector, his big brown horse.
spite of his annoyance and
he grinned. The contrast
d have amused Ridley, he feit,
he known.
In his day Sir James Brattle had
an outdoor
life had kept him fit m spite of the
whisky, or perhaps the whisky had
kept him fit in spite of advancing
He did not know and he
did not care, but if he could get
his hands on Ridley's throat, if
he dared risk the revolver, he would
half kill him before he let go.
The field was wide and long and
bare. Sir James glanced over his
shoulder as he neared the dark
mass of Corxdale Woods. Was the
madman with the gun following him
still? he wondered. Or had he
15d
oid
of
in
ear
iF
! merely been trying to scare him?
Was he playing an elaborate prac-
tical joke on him? Had he started
him off on this wild run, and then
abandoned the pursuit and returned
home to tell the tale of how he hac
frightened him? Or what?
Sir James stumbled and fell for:
ward on his hands and knees. As
he rose, covered with mud, he hear
a yell: “Tallyho! Tallyho! anc
broke into a quick run.
He ran downhill now acros
ground that was water-logged ant
swampy. He reached a hedge ant
tried to find the gate. There wa:
a gate, he knew.
He heard the crack of a revolve
and wheeled in panic. “Damn you
Ridley!” he yelled. “Do you wan
to kill me?”
“Make haste,” Ridley replied
‘Make haste, Sir James!"
Irritated by his panic, terrified b)
the thought of the bullet, Sir Jame:
plunged through the hedge and con
tinued downhill toward Headlong
Ash a mile farther on, where ear
lier in the day the hunt had almos
lost the fox.
Sir James found it difficult to se:
clearly or keep his feet. He wa
growing tired. But if he was tired
so too was Ridley, he was positive
Another spurt and he would haw
outdistanced him.
At Curdle’'s Brook he slackene:
speed and breathed in sobs. He wa
blown.
Again there came the crack of th
revolver.
Sir James plunged waist-deep int:
the stream and climbed the bank 0)
the other side and fought his wa;
through gorse and brambles towar
the high ridge of Fargate Hill. Th
grass was slippery underfoot. H
fell and scrambled to his feet an
fell again and cursed aloud in fea
and anger and hatred of the mad
man who was chasing him.
If Ridley killed him it would b
murder as cold-blooded and as de
liberate as though h: had shot hir
in his library. And again th
thought came to him that this hun
of Ridley’'s was all un elaborate jok
and he had only to call his bluff, t
halt and turn and wait for him an
say: “Well, Ridley, do your wors
Shoot, damn you!” and he woul
acknowiedge his defeat and leav
him. He had only to say: “Shoo
damn you!” and he would be free
and yet he did not dare. Ridle
was insane, a raving homicidal me
Bist. eager for blood. He would ki
m.
And so without any slackening «
speed Sir James ran on, gasping fc
breath, his heart jumping again:
his ribs, a band of iron across h
aching temples, and so he woul
run until he outdistanced his pu
suer and found safety somewher
or until he dropped.
On the slope of Fargate Hill I
came to Podmore's, a small cottag
and orchard. A light burned ino:
of the upper windows. He screec)
ed out: “Help! Help! Bob Harke
help!”
He made for the gate. At ti
crack of the revolver he swerve
‘aside once more.
Sir James dropped down on ti
soft turf under a big gorse bush «
the crest of Fargate Hill and pan
If he stayed where he was, pe
haps Ridley would pass on and n
see him. The rain was pourir
down in torrents. He was wet
the skin. His clothes were tor
He had lost his shoes. He had c
his knee on some brambles. Nev
had he known such weariness. F
sould not have moved to save Lk
life.
And then he heard Ridley’'s har
voice calling to him.
“Come out of there, Sir Jam
Yoa1're being hunted. You're tire
You're dead-beat. Yr
dead-beat, too.”
Sir James lifted his throbbir
aching head and screamed: “Dan
you, Ridley, let me go! Let me gc
At the bang of the revolver
shakily a
ste
slope.
In Sudderton Spinney, halfway
Gapper’'s, with the railway viadu
visible overhead, Sir James wad
knee deep through mud and wat
too tired to climb the steep ba
that rose above him in a tangle
briars. When he came out of t
Spinney into Chapel Meadow t
rain had ceased.
He limped toward the quarry
‘the side of Jackson's Hill. He
longer attempted to run. F
strength had gone. In five m:
utes or less he would collapse. A
had Ridley left him? Had he me
aged to throw him off the scent?
Scent! Sir James bared his tec
in a silent snarl. Scent! He w
lucky. He plodded on, his ‘kn¢
bent, his head sagging, his ba
rounded, his hands dangling by
knees, barefooted, half naked, ble:
ing, exhausted, until he reached
thick screen of hawthorn a
(Continued on page 3, Col. 3.)