“Ride him?—ay; and never a man in the province brought a beast to a leap with a lighter hand and a closer seat in the saddle. We were side by side for three miles of a stiff country, and I don't believe I 'm much of a coward,—at any rate, I set very little value on my neck; but, I 'll tell you what, sir, he pushed me hard.”
“How was this, then? Had you a race together?” “It was something very like it, sir,” said Freney, laughing; “for when I reached Westport, I heard that young O'Reilly was to ride a new brown horse that day with the hounds, and a great hunt was expected, to show some English gentlemen who were staying at Gwynne Abbey. So I went off early to Hooley's forge, near the cross-roads, to see the meet, and look out for my man. I did n't want any one to tell me which he was, for I 'd know Matchlock at half a mile distance. There he was, in splendid condition too, and looking as I never saw him look before; by my conscience, Mr. Daly, there's a wide difference between the life of a beast in the stables of a county member, and one that has to stretch his bones in the shealing of such as myself. My plan was to go down to the cover, and the moment the fox broke away, to drive a bullet through my horse's head, and be off as hard as I could; for, to tell you the truth, it was spite more than the value of him was grieving me; so I took my own horse by the bridle, and walked down to where they were all gathered. I was scarcely there when the dogs gave tongue, and away they went,—a grand sight it was, more than a hundred red-coats, and riding close every man of them. Just then, up comes Matchlock, and takes the fence into the field where I was standing, a stone wall and a ditch, his rider handling him elegantly, and with an easy smile, sitting down in his saddle as if it was child's play. Faith, I could n't bring myself to fire the shot, partly for the sake of the horse, more too, maybe, for the sake of the rider. 'I 'll go a bit beside him,' said I to myself; for it was a real pleasure to me to watch the way how both knew their business well. I 'm making a long story of it, but the end of it was this: I took the Crumpawn river just to dare him, and divil a bit but he fell in,—no fault of his, but the bank was rotten, and down they went; the young fellow had a narrow escape of it, but he got through it at last, and, as he lay on the grass more dead than alive, I saw Matchlock grazing just close to me. Temptations are bad things, Mr. Daly, particularly when a man has never trained himself off them; so I slipped the bridle over his head, and rode away with him beside me.”
“Carried him off?”
“Clean and clever; he's at the hall-door this minute: and, by the same token, sixty-four miles he has covered this day.”
“There's only one part of the whole story surprises me; it is that this fellow should have ridden so boldly and so well. I know such courage is often no more than habit: yet even that lower quality of daring I never should have given him credit for. Was he hurt by his fall?”
“Stunned, perhaps, but nothing the worse.”
“Well, well, enough of him. I wanted to see you, Freney, to learn anything you may know of this fellow Gleeson's flight. It's a sad affair for my friend the Knight of Gwynne.”
“So I've heard, sir. It's bad enough for myself, too.”