Poor "Phrenzy!"
round she spun in the giddy vortex; nearer and nearer she
approached the verge - her struggles were unavailing - over she
went, and was of course never heard of afterward.
This was a terrible style of hunting; rather too much so to be
pleasant. I clambered down to the edge of the river just in time
to see the elk climbing, as nimbly as a cat up the precipitous
bank on the opposite side, threading his way at a slow walk under
the overhanging rocks, and scrambling up the steep mountain with
a long string of hounds at his heels in single file. "Valiant,"
"Tiptoe" and "Ploughboy" were close to him, and I counted the
other hounds in the line, fully expecting to miss half of them.
To my surprise and delight, only one was absent; this was poor
"Phrenzy." The others had all managed to save themselves. I now
crossed the river by leaping from rock to rock with some
difficulty, and with hands and knees I climbed the opposite bank.
This was about sixty feet high, from the top of which the
mountain commenced its ascent, which, though very precipitous was
so covered with long lemon grass that it was easy enough to
climb. I looked behind me, and there was the Tamby, all right,
within a few paces.
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