Riding a Point- to- Point 



bring grief ? Better not have fallen horses interfering ; 

 better lead. How gamely Mimosa answers to the 

 request ! After three gruelling miles it is wonderful to 

 feel her response. With an undemonstrative spurt she 

 forges to the lead, props an instant, hooks the bank, 

 changes feet, flicks over the yawning ditch and lands a 

 good four lengths in advance of her nearest rival. 



Up on the hill crowds are hurrying to the winning 

 post; horses are asked for a supreme effort. Only one 

 fence divides us from the flags that lie along that aisle 

 of green in that sea of human beings. Mimosa still 

 holds the lead; the crowds are frantic; cheers greet us. 

 The swish of whalebone sounds behind a bay head 

 creeps up to her girth. " Come on, Mimosa ! I knew 

 you would ! Don't let him creep any further. He's 

 back to your quarter keep him there, Mimosa, keep 

 him there ! One fence more and the race is ours ! ' 



" Always ride the last fence as if it wasn't there," 

 is the old saying. 



But it was there. 



" His eyelids are moving, doctor. Thanks be to 

 God ! I thought he was killed." 



" Oh, he'll be all right in a few minutes. He got 

 a devilish spill, but there's nothing broken." 



" And Lord ! he had the race in his pocket only for 

 that last trick of a jump, doctor. And the favourite was 

 beaten at the post by an outsider. I don't know the 

 name of the horse, but he had a green jockey." 



93 



