152 Cross Country with Horse and Hound 



had ridden in the valley the year before, and, while he 

 was not a " threshing scoundrel " of a rider, had acquitted 

 himself fairly well. But this morning evidently his nerve 

 was gone. He trembled so he could hardly get into the 

 saddle. His host had mounted him on his old trustworthy 

 Billy Claffy, as honest an old hunter as ever laid a foot to 

 grass, whom nothing could make do wrong. He was as 

 sober-going as a deacon passing the Sunday plate. Now it 

 so happened Billy's rider and I came alongside of each 

 other on the way to the covert. I spoke a few words to 

 him, but he could not answer for a moment. Finally he 

 faltered : " I am going to fall off at the very first fence." 



" Nonsense ! " said I, reassuringly. " With Billy Claffy 

 you are as safe as if you were in a trundle-bed with your 

 own mother to rock it." 



But, sure enough, in jumping over a three-rail fence on 

 the way to the Hartman flats, off went the guest like a 

 quarter of beef. Co-chug ! he landed on the grass in a 

 sitting posture, with one foot sticking through his new silk 

 hat. It was about the most laughable sight I ever saw. 

 The fall seemed to daze him for a moment ; then, recov- 

 ering himself, he cried out : " Catch my horse ! Here, 

 somebody ! I say, there, catch my horse ! " 



Billy Claffy, all the while, was not the length of himself 

 away, quietly eating grass. This was the end, so far as I 

 ever knew, of this gentleman's riding. It was a case of 

 funk that reached collapse, and all for want of a little 

 preparation. 



In another field of sport we see similar cases every year 

 in the woods of Maine and Canada. The typical city man 



