GOOD HORSES AND FRAUDS 161 



lay down in it when he saw water in a ditch. I 

 tried to keep him from the stone-wall country. 

 He could jump any height, but even there one finds 

 water. It was pure nervousness. Everyone 

 somewhat naturall}^ whacked and spurred him 

 from his bath, until one day near Russ I was left 

 with a watery trench between me and the pack. 

 Beggarman went to ground promptly, but I only 

 petted him and he came out shaking his head, 

 went in again, was soothed, came out, jumped, 

 and there was never a better hunter. We ran 

 along under Knock Fierna when he scorned a 

 dozen trenches, and in the evening we crossed a 

 nasty country near Tory Hill, and he carried Mr. 

 Osborne faultlessly. He went to a man in the 

 Rifle Brigade, who told me he was delighted with 

 him. 



Quadroon, a black, was the handsomest horse I 

 have ever had and the greatest fraud. He was a 

 real Napoleon the great, but he would stand as 

 the picture of a fourteen-stone blood hunter. (He 

 won several cups in English shows.) He would 

 stride across the first field, a perfect mover, and 

 then ... he would die. I never knew what it was, 

 as well hope to see a hunt on a good donkey. 

 Plod, plod, slower and slower and always jumping 

 gloriously. I whacked him one day until he 

 galloped so that I really believe he could have 

 gone on if he liked to. I had a curious experience 

 on him once. I used to take his valuable and 



