Sporting Society Volume I Part 10

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 Stiffshire 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 flashily-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.

All eyes are now directed to the wall, which the horses are rapidly approaching. Fortescue is seen to lead at it, and the old horse clears it at a bound, as did the mare.

"It's all up," said Bradon, as he closes his gla.s.ses; "Fortescue will win in a canter."

"The Captain's down!" screamed a host of voices, as he and the mare came to grief at the second water-jump.

"May he stick there for the next ten minutes!" muttered the sly little man, a wish in which not a few joined--a certain fair lady especially.

But he is up and at work again, none the worse. The horses were going at a great pace, and the jumps were taken with beautiful precision by both. Bradon began to look anxious, the sly little man fidgety, and Lord Plunger wore a thoughtful look.

The anxious girl's face was flushed to scarlet with excitement and emotion, and she trembled fearfully.

"It will be a close thing," said the sly-looking little man; "the mare is better than I thought."

There were only a few things to be jumped now of any consequence--the two brooks and the big wall. The horses there turned, ran through an opening made in the wall, and finished on the flat in front of the carriages. The brook is now approached for the second time: the mare comes at it first, jumps it, and topples down on her nose on the opposite side; the Captain is pitched forward on her ears, but recovers himself like lightning, and is away again, leading Fortescue at a terrific pace.

But what is the little sly man doing? As the mare recovers herself he is seen to dart across the course and pick up something flat, and put it into his pocket. "By G--d! turn out as it will we are saved," he muttered. "I'll lay any money against the mare," he screamed out. But no one took him.

The wall is now approached again; the Captain leads; but as the mare is about to rise he turns her sharply round and gallops in a different direction. Screwdriver refuses it too.

"d.a.m.nation! I thought it," said Bradon; "there's a blackguard's trick!"

"Oh! poor Charles," e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed the beautiful Alice; "my poor colours!"

"The Captain's cleared it!" shouted out the mult.i.tude, as the mare was seen to take the wall splendidly.

"Where's your soldier now?" shouted out a chorus of voices.

"Shure it's myself," said the captain, "could never be licked."

"Most unfortunate!" said the old Colonel, "a dirty trick; and after my kindness to him, too!"

"The soldier is going at it again!" cried the people; and the horse is seen to rise gallantly at it, but both horse and rider came down on the other side.

"Och, wirra wirra, vo vo! Mother of Moses, he's kilt entirely!" bawled out a countryman; "poor young fellow!"

"Miss Gwynne's fainted," said a young sub, running into the tent for water.

"By G--d! he's up and at it again," screamed out the sly little man: "the mare's baked too; look at her tail."

All faces were flushed and eager. The horse was coming along at a tremendous pace. The captain was at work: his legs could be seen sending the spurs deeply into her; and he took an anxious look over his shoulder every now and then.

"The mare's beaten!" resounded on all sides, as she was seen to swerve in her stride.

"Oh that the finish were only a hundred yards farther!" said Lord Plunger.

The winning-post is approached. The old horse has not been touched by Fortescue, whose face is seen, even at that distance, to be deluged with blood. He holds Screwdriver well in hand; he sees the mare is flagging.

"Green wins!" "Red wins!" shouts the crowd.