Volume I Part 10 (1/2)

Remember, too, you must not go at the wall too fast: keep him well together, with his hind legs well under him, and pop him over. Now, with regard to the brook, on no account give him a lead there; if necessary, walk your horse to it rather than go first. Keep your head, old fellow, and where you dare, make the pace a cracker, if you can do it without pumping your horse; the mare is overtrained, and will not last if she is bustled. I don't know that I can say any more: now, go and sit by your lady fair till it is time to weigh.”

The officers had sent their two cricket tents down, the scoring one for the scales, and the other for luncheon. The latter one was filled with gentlemen discussing the merits of the different horses.

”Here comes your nag, Fortescue,” said a young sub, running up to the carriage.

”Oh, what a beauty he is!” said Miss Gwynne. ”Who is the little fat man leading him?”

”That,” said Bradon, who had joined them, ”is my old stud-groom, one of the best men in Europe; he says Screwdriver's trained to the hour.

Here, Mason, turn the horse round and show him to the lady.”

The old man touched his hat as he did so.

”He's a good 'un, miss,” he said, ”and nothing but a good 'un; and if Mr Fortescue rides him patiently, I think that no Mad Moll will have a chance with him.” And touching his hat again he turned and walked the horse away.

The regimental champion was then immediately surrounded by the men of the Stiffs.h.i.+re Regiment.

The weighing is over, and Screwdriver mounted. Fortescue's colours are crimson, with gold braiding. Capt. O'Rooney's are all green. Both gentlemen look thorough jocks, and sit their horses easily and well; but there is a look of the older hand about the Captain.

”Who will lay me two to one against Screwdriver?” cried out a sly-looking little man in a large drab overcoat. ”I'll do it to any amount up to a thousand.”

”I'll take you even money for a hundred,” said a flas.h.i.+ly-dressed man on a bay horse.

”I want odds, sir,” said the little man; ”but as I see there is no betting to be done here, make it two hundred and I'll take you.”

”Done,” said the other. And the bets were booked.

All is now excitement, for the horses are walking away to the starting-post. The judge had locked himself up in the little box allotted to him, which has been lent by the race committee, but little did he think he would see such a close finish.

”They're off!” is the cry, as the two horses are seen cantering across a field.

”Fortescue's leading,” said Lord Plunger, with his field-gla.s.ses to his eyes.

”Oh, papa, hold me up so that I may see,” said the beautiful and anxious Miss Gwynne.

The eyes of scores were on her as she stood up, for all the gentry were well aware in what relation she stood to Fortescue.

”Well lepped!” roared the mult.i.tude, as the horses topped a wall.

”Capital jumpers both,” said the sly-looking little man; ”the horse for my money. Will n.o.body bet?” he roared out. But all were too eager to attend to him.

Fortescue is in front, and going at a good rate across some gra.s.s. The first brook is now approached, and the Captain in his turn, leads at a strong pace. All are anxiously looking to see how Mad Moll will like it, for she is twisting her head from side to side. Fortescue has taken a pull at Screwdriver, who is some six lengths behind.

”Hang me if she means jumping!” said Bradon, as he saw the mare's spiral movements.

But he was wrong: a resolute man and a good one was on her back. She jumped the brook, but in bad style, her hind legs dropped in, and as she just righted herself, Fortescue's crimson jacket flashed in the air and cleared it splendidly, amidst the shouts of hundreds.

”Splendidly jumped!” said Lord Plunger. ”Fortescue is a fine horseman, Bradon, and is riding the horse patiently and well.”

”He is,” was the quiet reply.