"Werry good, m'lud!" This from Milo of Crotona, portentous of brow and stern of eye, as he overlooked the ostlers who were busily unbuckling straps and traces.
"My 'Roman,' as I say," continued the Viscount, "was rather more so than usual, actually wanted me to give up the Race! After that of course I had to be firm with him, and we had a slight—ah, misunderstanding in consequence—fathers, as a rule, are so infernally parental and inconsiderate! Met Carnaby on the road, raced him for a hundred; ding-dong all the way, wheel and wheel to Bromley, though he nearly ditched me twice, confound him! Coming down Mason's Hill I gave him my dust, up the rise he drew level again. 'Ease up for the town, Carnaby,' says I, 'Be damned if I do!' says he, so at it we went, full tilt. Gad! to see the folk jump! Carnaby drove like a devil, had the lead to Southend, but, mark you, his whip was going! At Catford we were level again. At Lewisham I took the lead and kept it, and the last I saw of him he was cursing and lashing away at his cattle, like a brute. Carnaby's a devilish bad loser, I've noticed, and here I am. And oh! by the way—he's got a devil of an eye, and a split lip. Says he fell out of his curricle, but looks as though some one had—thrashed him."
"But my very dear fellow!" exclaimed the Corinthian, "thrash Carnaby? pooh!"
"Never in the world!" added the Captain.
"Hum!" said the Viscount, feeling a tender part of his own ribs thoughtfully, "ha! But, hallo, Jerningham! have you been at it too? Why are you buffed?" And he nodded to the Corinthian's bare arms.
"Oh, dooce take me, I forgot!" exclaimed the Marquis, looking about; "queer cove, doocid touchy, looks as if he might fib though. Ah, there he is! talking to the rough-looking customer over yonder;" and he pointed to Barnabas, who stood with his coat thrown open, and the objectionable neckcloth in full evidence. The Viscount looked, started, uttered a "view hallo," and, striding forward, caught Barnabas by the hand.
"Why, Bev, my dear fellow, this is lucky!" he exclaimed. Now Barnabas was quick to catch the glad ring in the Viscount's voice, and to notice that the neckcloth was entirely lost upon him, therefore he smiled as he returned the Viscount's hearty grip.
"When did you get here? what are you doing? and what the deuce is the trouble between you and Jerningham?" inquired the Viscount all in a breath. But before Barnabas could answer, the great, black horse, tired of comparative inaction, began again to snort and rear, and jerk his proud head viciously, whereupon the two ostlers fell to swearing, and the Viscount's bays at the other end of the yard to capering, and the Viscount's small groom to anathematizing, all in a moment.
"Slingsby!" cried his Lordship, "look to that black demon of yours!"
"He is no concern of mine, Devenham," replied the Captain airily, "sold him, b'gad!"
"And I bought him," added Barnabas.
"You did?" the Viscount exclaimed, "in heaven's name, what for?"
"To ride—"
"Eh? my dear fellow!"
"I should like to try him for the race on the fifteenth, if it could be managed, Dick."
"The race!" exclaimed the Viscount, staring.
"I 've been wondering if you could—get me entered for it," Barnabas went on, rather diffidently, "I'd give anything for the chance."
"What—with that brute! my dear fellow, are you mad?"
"No, Dick."
"But he's unmanageable, Bev; he's full of vice—a killer—look at him now!"
And indeed at this moment, as if to bear out this character, up went the great, black head again, eyes rolling, teeth gleaming, and ears laid back.
"I tell you, Bev, no one could ride that devil!" the Viscount repeated.
"But," said Barnabas, "I've bet your friend Captain Slingsby that I could."
"It would be madness!" exclaimed the Viscount. "Ha! look out! There—I told you so!" For in that moment the powerful animal reared suddenly—broke from the grip of one ostler, and swinging the other aside, stood free, and all was confusion. With a warning shout, the old groom sprang to his head, but Barnabas was beside him, had caught the hanging reins, and swung himself into the saddle.
"I've got him, sir," cried Martin, "find yer stirrups!"
"Your stick," said Barnabas, "quick, man! Now—let go!"
For a moment the horse stood rigid, then reared again, up and up—his teeth bared, his forefeet lashing; but down came the heavy stick between the flattened ears, once—twice, and brought him to earth again.
And now began a struggle between the man and the brute—each young, each indomitable, for neither had as yet been mastered, and therefore each was alike disdainful of the other. The head of the horse was high and proud, his round hoofs spurned the earth beneath, fire was in his eye, rage in his heart—rage and scorn of this presumptuous Two-legs who sought to pit his puny strength against his own quivering, four-legged might. Therefore he mocked Two-legs, scorned and contemned him, laughed ha! ha! (like his long-dead ancestor among the Psalmist's trumpets) and gathered himself together—eager for the battle.
But the eyes of Barnabas were wide and bright, his lips were curved, his jaw salient—his knees gripped tight, and his grasp was strong and sure upon the reins.
And now Four-legs, having voiced his defiance, tossed his crest on high, then plunged giddily forward, was checked amid a whirlwind of lashing hoofs, rose on his hind legs higher and higher, swinging giddily round and round, felt a stunning blow, staggered, and dropping on all fours, stove in the stable door with a fling of his hind hoofs. But the eyes of Barnabas were glowing, his lips still curved, and his grip upon the reins was more masterful. And, feeling all this, Four-legs, foaming with rage, his nostrils flaring, turned upon his foe with snapping teeth, found him out of reach, and so sought to play off an old trick that had served him more than once; he would smash his rider's leg against a post or wall, or brush him off altogether and get rid of him that way. But lo! even as he leapt in fulfilment of this manoeuvre, his head was wrenched round, further and further, until he must perforce, stop—until he was glaring up into the face above, the face of his bitter foe, with its smiling mouth, its glowing eye, its serene brow.
"Time's up!" cried the Captain, suddenly; "b'gad, sir, you win the bet!" But Barnabas scarcely heard.
"You've done it—you win; eleven and a half minutes, b'gad!" roared the Captain again—"don't you hear, sir?—come off, before he breaks your neck!"
But Barnabas only shook his head, and, dropping the stick, leaned over and laid his hand upon that proud, defiant crest, a hand grown suddenly gentle, and drew it down caressingly from ear to quivering nostril, once, twice, and spoke words in a soft tone, and so, loosed the cruel grip upon the rein, and sat back—waiting. But Four-legs had become thoughtful; true, he still tossed his head and pawed an impatient hoof, but that was merely for the sake of appearances—Four-legs was thoughtful. No one had ever touched him so, before—indeed blows had latterly been his portion—but this Two-legs was different from his kind, besides, he had a pleasing voice—a voice to soothe ragged nerves—there it was again! And then surely, the touch of this hand awoke dim memories, reminded him of far-off times when two-legged creatures had feared him less; and there was the hand again! After all, things might be worse—the hand that could be so gentle could be strong also; his mouth was sore yet, and a strong man, strong-handed and gentle of voice, was better than—oh, well!
Whether of all this, or any part of it, the great, black horse was really thinking, who shall say? Howbeit Barnabas presently turned in his saddle and beckoned the old groom to his stirrup.
"He'll be quiet now, I think," said he.
"Ah! that he will, sir. You've larned the trick o' voice an' hand—it ain't many as has it—must be born in a man, I reckon, an' 'tis that as does more nor all your whips and spurs, an' curb-bits, sir. 'E'll be a babe wi' you arter this, sir, an' I'm thinkin' as you won't be wantin' me now, maybe? I ain't young enough nor smart enough, d' ye see."
Here Barnabas dismounted, and gave the reins into the old groom's eager hand.
"I shan't be wanting him for—probably three or four days, Gabriel, until then—look after him, exercise him regularly, for I'm hoping to do great things with him, soon, Gabriel, perhaps." And so Barnabas smiled, and as Martin led the horse to the stables, turned to find the young Corinthian at his elbow; he had resumed hat and coat, and now regarded Barnabas as smiling and imperturbable as ever.
"Sir," said he, "I congratulate you heartily. Sir, any friend of Viscount Devenham is also mine, I trust; and I know your name, and—hem!—I swear Slingsby does! Beverley, I think—hem!—son of old Beverley, and a devilish good name too! Eh, Sling my boy?"
Hereupon the Captain limped forward, if possible redder of face than ever, very much like a large schoolboy in fault.
