THE PLACE WHERE THE OLD HORSE DIED. 469 



turned imploring head ; or if ho is not haunted for many a 

 day by the memory of the agonised, wondering, eye, appealing 

 to him for help he could not give, and that seemed to beseech 

 him not to move away, as he left the scene while another fired 

 the miserable shot. A really bold, a really generous horse is 

 not under one every day — let the exchequer be ever so well 

 supported, or the stud ever so carefully and lavishly compiled. 

 A horse for whom no fence is a terror, but for whom timber, 

 water, and blackthorn have a like fascination, for whom hounds 

 seldom run too fast, and whom other horses can never pound 

 (riders being willing and equal), is priceless 'property, I tell 

 you, to a man who loves a fast run and rejoices in a grass 

 country. It is not a little debt to owe you, old Hercules, that 

 you carried me as a nurse would carry a crippled baby, when I 

 clung to you across the Boddington Vale — in that best of gallops 

 last winter with the Bicester — and when a crushed limb and a 

 bed-enfeebled frame was your burden and responsibility. We 

 came through it all right, old fellow ; God bless you for it. 

 (For why has not an honest horse a soul to bless, as much as 

 any vice-eaten man ?) And for many a thrilling gallop and for 

 many a forward place am I indebted to you, old horse, who 

 knew not the meaning of fear, but begged ever and hard at the 

 bridle to give you leave and liberty to go. We were caught in 

 a trap, old friend ; a trap that I ought to have known. The 

 pace and your gallantry did it. A coward would have halved 

 it in safety ; your pluck was strength and your doom ; but you 

 died within sight of the kennel, and your brave spirit shall go 

 with your bones, in the good cause of drive and of dash and of 

 killing the fox. 



That daring spirit knew 



The task beyond the compass of his stride, 



Yet he faced it true and brave, 



And dropped into his grave. 



It was the double fence under Berrydale Gorse — the double 

 that only a week ago floored two better men, and, perhaps, one 

 as good horse — the little bay mare of Cold Ashby. Of course, 



