The Worst Hunt on Record 



I KNEW by the wag of his head that he was a bit-of-a-lad. 

 When I mounted him he flung his bit-bars in truculent 

 resentment. When I jogged off, his jaws took a vice- 

 like hold of the bit, his head poked sideways and, if 

 horses wore hats, his would have been very definitely 

 " on the Kildare side." I soon discovered that it was 

 a waste of energy to attempt to alter his head-position. 

 His jaws were rigid, his neck inflexible, in fact, every- 

 thing in front of the saddle seemed to be set in reinforced 

 concrete. Reins are ornamental accoutrements on 

 hobby-horses : mine were just as effective. 



I had been told he was the heart and soul of a rascal, 

 but as I have ridden, and occasionally fallen off, every 

 conceivable brand of rascal, I felt I could forestall any 

 equine acrobatics which he might have under considera- 

 tion. His owner had given me the animal's whole 

 character; that is, of course, assuming that there was a 

 shred of it left to give to anyone; and I had gladly 

 accepted the offer of a day's hunting, character or no 

 character ! Two stable companions had had a hard 

 hunt the previous day, a third was lame and a fourth 

 had a cough; so it was ride this old reprobate or nothing. 



He had an amazing history, but it will suffice to say 

 that his owner had forsaken any hopes he might have 



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