GOOD HORSES AND FRAUDS 163 



he was a puller but quite rideable and simply went 

 along as he chose. He was a glorious hunter and 

 went to what the farmers call a brave young officer, 

 Colonel Gabbett, who managed him and won races 

 with him. 



A determined refuser is another of the worst of 

 the frauds. Out go the forelegs, back go the ears, 

 the hunt melts away as snow before the sun, one 

 whips, whacks ; country people arise from no- 

 where and whip and whack until hot and worn out 

 one gets across one fence and waits with set teeth, 

 waits bitterly for the next stop. 



I bought one black brute called Handy Andy, 

 because he was so handy with his heels in the 

 stable, a big very good-looking black full of quality. 

 He jumped amiably enough in the ropes and would 

 always take stone walls if rattled at them later 

 on, but I took him to Ballygarry one day and 

 plumbed the depths of his currishness. 



Hounds of course crossed the valley that day, 

 I could have scrambled along on the hills. Mr. 

 Handy Andy took two banks with a zeal which 

 led me to think that I was on a hunter. Then we 

 came to a small ditch. No power of whip could 

 get him over. He used to look down and I believe 

 he grinned. A very small boy who rode a pony in 

 that country also refused, but from discretion. 

 As I rested worn out from whacking he hailed me. 



" This is too big," he said, " for the likes of us, 

 if ye folly me on I will show ye a way round." 



