Part 27 (1/2)

As well as I could observe him, he was a magnificent horse--a little too heavy perhaps about the crest and forehand, but then so strong behind, such powerful muscle about the haunches, that his balance was well preserved. As I stood contemplating him in silence, I felt the breath of some one behind me. I turned suddenly around; it was Father Tom Loftus himself. There was the worthy priest, mopping his forehead with a huge pocket-handkerchief and blowing like a rhinoceros.

'Ugh!' said he at length, 'I have been running up and down the roads this half-hour after you, and there's not a puff left in me.'

'Ah, father! I hoped to have seen you at the inn.' 'Whisht! I darn't.

I thought I'd do it better my own way; but, see now, we've no time to lose. I knew as well as yourself you never intended to ride this race.

No matter; don't say a word, but listen to me. I know the horse better than any one in these parts; and it isn't impossible, if you can keep the saddle over the first two or three fences, that you may win. I say, if you can--for 'faith it's not in a ”swing-swong” you'll be! But, come now, the course was marked out this evening. Burke was over it before dinner; and, with a blessing, we will be before supper. I've got a couple of hacks here that'll take us over every bit of it; and perhaps it is not too much to say you might have a worse guide.'

''Faith, your reverence,' chimed in the groom, 'he'd find it hard to have a better.'

Thanking the kind priest for his good-natured solicitude, I followed him out upon the road, where the two horses were waiting us.

'There, now,' said he, 'get up; the stirrups are about your length. He looks a little low in flesh, but you'll not complain of him when he's under you.'

The next moment we were both in the saddle. Taking a narrow path that led off from the highroad, we entered a large tilled field; keeping along the headlands of which, we came to a low stone wall, through a gap of which we pa.s.sed, and came out upon an extensive piece, of gra.s.sland, that gently sloped away from where we were standing to a little stream at its base, an arm of that which supplied the mill.

'Here, now,' said the priest, 'a little to the left yonder is the start.

You come down this hill; you take the water there, and you keep along by Freney's house, where you see the trees there. There's only a small stone wall and a clay ditch between this and that; afterwards you turn off to the right. But, come now, are you ready? We'll explore a bit.'

As he spoke, the good priest, putting spurs to his hackney, dashed on before me, and motioning me to follow, cantered down the slope. Taking the little mill-stream at a fly, he turned in his saddle to watch my performance.

'Neat! mighty neat!' cried he, encouraging me. 'Keep your hand a little low. The next is a wall----'

Scarcely had he spoke when we both came together at a stone-fence, about three feet high. This time I was a little in advance, as my horse was fresher, and took it first.

'Oh, the devil a better!' said Father Tom. 'Burke himself couldn't beat that! Here, now: keep this way out of the deep ground, and rush him at the double ditch there.'

Resolved on securing his good opinion, I gripped my saddle firmly with my knees, and rode at the fence. Over we went in capital style; but lighting on the top of a rotten ditch, the ground gave way, and my horse's hind legs slipped backwards into the gripe. Being at full stretch, the poor animal had no power to recover himself, so that, disengaging his forelegs, I pulled him down into the hollow, and then with a vigorous dash of the spur and a bold lift carried him clean over it into the field.

'Look, now!' said the priest; 'that pleases me better than all you did before. Presence of mind--that's the real gift for a horseman when he's in a sc.r.a.pe; but, mind me, it was your own fault, for here's the way to take the fence.' So saying, he made a slight semicircle in the field, and then, as he headed his horse towards the leap, rushed him at it furiously, and came over like the bound of a stag.

'Now,' said Father Tom, pointing with his whip as he spoke, 'we have a beautiful bit of galloping-ground before us; and if you ever reach this far, and I don't see why you shouldn't, here's where you ought to make play. Listen to me now,' said he, dropping his voice: 'Tom Molloy s mare isn't thoroughbred, though they think she is. She has got a bad drop in her. Now, the horse is all right, clean bred, sire and dam, by reason he 'll be able to go through the dirt when the mare can't; so that all you 've to do, if, as I said before, you get this far, is to keep straight down to the two thorn-bushes--there, you see them yonder. Burke won't be able to take that line, but must keep upon the headlands, and go all round yonder; look, now, you see the difference--so that before he can get over that wide ditch you'll be across it, and making for the stone wall After that, by the powers, if you don't win, I, can't help you!'

'Where does the course turn after, father?' said I.

'Oh! a beautiful line of flat country, intersprinkled with walls, ditches, and maybe a hedge or two; but all fair, and only one rasping fence--the last of all. After that, you have a clean gallop of about a quarter of a mile, over as nice a sod as ever you cantered.'

'And that last fence, what is it like?'

''Faith, it is a rasper! It's a wide gully, where there was a _boreen_ once, and they say it is every inch of sixteen feet--that'll make it close upon twenty when you clear the clay on both sides. The grey horse, I'm told, has a way of jumping in and jumping out of these narrow roads; but take my advice, and go it in a fly. And now, Captain, what between the running, and the riding, and the talking altogether, I am as dry as a limekiln; so what do you say if we turn back to town, and have a bit of supper together? There's a kind of a cousin of mine, one Bob Mahon, a Major in the Roscommon, and he has got a grouse-pie, and something hot to dilute it with, waiting for us.'

'Nothing will give me more pleasure, father; and there's only one thing more--indeed I had nearly forgotten it altogether----''

'What's that?' said the priest, with surprise.

'Not having any intention to ride, I left town without any racing equipment; breeches and boots I have, but as to a cap and a jacket----'

'I 've provided for both,' said Father Tom. 'You saw the little man with a white head that sat at the head of the table--Tom Dillon of Mount Brown; you know him?'