i6o Indian Racing Reminiscences. 



no other aid than that of their horses and stout walking- 

 sticks. After some desperately hard gallops they ac- 

 counted for three brushes, and then the gallant Maori, 

 being short of work, laid down and died from congestion 

 of the lungs. Except a wolf or black buck, I know 

 nothing so hard to catch as the swift and wily "jack." 



Bad as " Mr. Bob " was to sit alongside of, his two 

 friends were infinitely worse, as, being short-sighted, 

 they used to trust implicitly to the honour of their 

 horses, which was anything but judicious on the Tir- 

 hoot roads, which are high and narrow constructions, 

 with yawning ditches on each side. The last time I 

 drove with Mr. Webb, we were returning to his place, 

 about twelve o'clock on a dark night, in a curricle drawn 

 by a couple of mules, which always insisted on running 

 away immediately they were yoked. We got into the 

 trap somehow, but the mules would take a straight line 

 across country instead of keeping to the road. I held 

 on bravely for a time, until, when passing through a 

 wood, and not being able to see a yard in front, a 

 branch of a tree caught me under the chin, and swept 

 me clean out of the trap on to the ground. I luckily 

 escaped with nothing worse than a severe shaking and 

 a scratched face. 



