"No; it was not a paper-chase," he answered, grimly. "There were no
paper-chases in my time. I mean that I was once hunted, just as we have
been hunting that fox."

"With a pack of hounds?"

"Yes, with a pack of hounds."

I was about to ask what sort of a chase it was, and how and where he was
hunted, when Cuffe came up, and, on behalf of the master, offered Mr.
Fortescue the brush.

"Thank you," said Mr. Fortescue, taking the brush and handing it to
Rawlings. "Here is something for you"--tipping the huntsman a sovereign,
which he put in his pocket with a "Thank you kindly, sir," and a gratified
smile.

And then flasks were uncorked, sandwich-cases opened, cigars lighted, and
the conversation becoming general, I had no other opportunity--at that
time--of making further inquiry of Mr. Fortescue touching the singular
episode in his career which he had just mentioned. A few minutes later a
move was made for our own country, and as we were jogging along I found
myself near Jim Rawlings.

"That's a fresh hoss you've got, I think, sir," he said.

"Yes, I have ridden him two or three times with the harriers; but this is
the first time I have had him out with fox-hounds."

"He carried you very well in the run, sir."