What the threat was intended for, cannot be known; for his eye once more caught sight of his idol, and he yelled out—
“Take care of the sheep. Bad luck to ye for sheep, ye're always in the way. That's the darling—'twas myself taught you to have a light hand. Ah, Kittane, you're coming to rayson now.”
“The mare won't be worth sixpence,” muttered Lanty.
“Twas as good as a day's sport to me,” said Kerry, wiping his brow with the loose sleeve of his coat, and preparing to descend from the elevation, for the young man now entered the distant part of the lawn, and, at an easy canter, was returning to the stable-yard.
“There!” said Mark, as he flung himself from the saddle, “there Kittane, it's the last time you're likely to have a bold burst of it, or myself either, perhaps. She touched her counter on that gate, Lanty; but she's nothing the worse of it.”
Lanty grumbled some indistinct mutterings, as he wiped a blood stain from the mare's chest, and looked sulkily at her heaving flanks and sides reeking with foam and sweat.
“Tis a darling you wor,” said Kerry, patting her over from her mane to her hind quarters.
“Faix, that cut is ten pounds out of my pocket this morning, anyhow,” said Lanty, as he pointed to the slight scratch from which a few drops of blood still flowed.
“Are you off the bargain, then,” said Mark sternly, as he turned his head round; for he was already leaving the spot.
“I didn't say so,” was the answer.