Little Warhorse 
“ Luk at thot, would ye—but ain’t he a Little 
Warhorse?” shouted a villainous-looking Irish 
stable-boy, and thus he was named. When half- 
way across the course the Jacks remembered 
the Haven, and all swept toward it and in like a 
snow-cloud over the drifts. 
This was the second lesson—to lead straight 
for the Haven as soon as driven from the Pen. 
In a week all had learned it, and were ready for 
the great opening meet of the Coursing Club. 
The Little Warhorse was now well known to 
the grooms and hangers-on; his colors usually 
marked him clearly, and his leadership was in 
a measure recognized by the long-eared herd 
that fled with him. He figured more or less 
with the Dogs in the talk and betting of the 
men. 
“Wonder if old Dignam is going to enter 
Minkie this year?” 
“ Faix, an’ if he does I bet the Little Warr- 
horrse will take the gimp out av her an’ her 
runnin’ mate.” 
“T ll bet three to one that my old Jen will 
pick the Warhorse up before he passes the 
grand stand,” growled a dog-man. 
238 
