70 OINEY O'SHEA. 



the last of the week. The man that wants him is to 

 be here Friday and then you will see Spangle go 'cross 

 country as the bird flies." Spangle rubbed his nose 

 against Terry's coat, blinking and nodding all the time 

 just as if he knew every word that was said, and when 

 he opened the stall door to let me have what he called 

 "a sight of him," the horse wheeled and stood like a 

 soldier on parade. Spangle was the first "cross coun- 

 try" horse I ever put my eye on, and as first impres- 

 sions are the most lasting, I have never forgotten him. 

 He was then a six-year-old, standing sixteen hands 

 full, all but thoroughbred, with immense bone and sub- 

 stance, full of quality and as clean on his legs as the 

 day he was foaled. Oiney bred him, and on the fol- 

 lowing day he told me that "he came off a good sort of 

 an ould mare, as good as gold, by trating her wid a 

 lape from one of the best horses in the counthry and 

 troth," continued he with a wink, "it was a stolen lape 

 which you know is always the best, to say nothing of 

 the chapeness." 



Terry told me that Spangle had started in a number 

 of races on the flat and over hurdles and was never 

 beaten but once, and that time by Floyd's chestnut mare 

 Maud. They had met in a dash of half a mile and 

 she," to use Oiney's expression, "ran right away from 

 him." He did not like it, and it was this that tempted 

 him to try and get one that could defeat her. All this 

 I learned afterwards from my aunt, as she was a 

 cousin of Floyd's, and being Scotch-Irish, they were as 

 clannish as Highlanders. 



When Oiney returned with the gray, Terry told me 

 that his name was Conquering Billy, and as he will 

 play a prominent part in the balance of the story, I 



