Echoes of the Hunting Horn 



Do you know it's a pity we hadn't that grey and this 

 mare entered on either day at Punchestown. Holy 

 smokes, they could jump houses. There are two single 

 banks in front now, but they're only like molehills 

 compared to the rasper we've just crossed. Here's the 

 wall now. We're back where we started. Let your 

 grey slip along now, he jumped these single banks 

 before, so he may remember them. 



Now we're in on the straight. This is where I collect 

 your five bob. Care to make it ten ? Right-o ! Every 

 man for himself. Here's the last fence coming to meet 

 us, the only built-up brush-through in Punchestown. 

 Cheerio, my lad, I'll have the tea ready for you when 

 you come home. Come on little mare; the grey licked 

 us at Fairyhouse, but he won't do so to-day. After 

 clearing all these big raspers don't let this birch affair 

 worry you. Lash away, my lady. Blazes, Kate ! pull 

 over with that grey horse. Hang it man, where are you 

 going ? Pull over, I say ! Pull oo . . . oo . . . over. 

 Crash \ 



Now our goose is cooked properly. On foot in the 

 plains of Kildare and our horses saying fare-ye-well to 

 us up the straight. Wouldn't we look the right pair of 

 prize fools if the stands were full of people ? Cursing 

 us like troopers they'd be. The bet still holds, you 

 say ? Whichever horse passes the post ? Be better if 

 we raced one another on Shanks's Mare. No wind ? 

 Neither have I. Let the horses finish it. They're level, 



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