A CIRCUS HORSE. 307 



of a man who was clearly in love with him, if such 

 a term is applicable to a fellow-feeling between an 

 animal and a human being. Old Bill had what might 

 be termed a large head for a horse standing only a 

 shade over fifteen hands, while his small muzzle and 

 sharply pointed ears, with the width of your hand be- 

 tween them, and heavy jowls, gave him an odd look, 

 but one that to my eye meant courage. His neck was 

 so short that the big padded collar covered more than 

 half of the space between his shoulders and crest, 

 while his body and hind quarters looked like a block 

 of bone and muscle. The quarters were let down 

 very deep, or, as a racing man would say, he was well 

 muscled. Old Bill's legs and feet looked like short 

 posts, not that they were filled or round, but because 

 he was so heavily boned, while the tendons were 

 clearly defined, notwithstanding the growth of hair 

 at the fetlock joints. As he stood there on the bush 

 road, the sunlight filtering through an arch of green, 

 seemed to play hide and seek with the dapples on his 

 rich, brown coat. I looked and looked again at that 

 block of a horse with all four feet well under him, and 

 with the sight of him came back the memories of the 

 horse I pictured Sir Walter Scott had in mind when 

 he was writing of Richard, the Lion Hearted, at the 

 tournament in "Ivanhoe." 



Old Bill had a blemish, possibly you might call it 

 a distinguishing mark. It was a large rim-burst on 

 his right side, and when I noticed it, Carey told me it 

 was on account of that he came to get him. Accord- 

 ing to his story, he was coming home from the Cor- 

 ners on foot one night about three years before I 

 made my appearance in the clearing and met a travel- 



