"Sure he has his two elbows into his ears! Go on, Lyney boy!"
The horses pounded past, splashing through the shallow flood of the water-jump, and trampling over such furze-bushes as had withstood the vicissitudes of the steeplechase. They passed from our view, and Dr. Fraser and I agreed that we should be justified in staying where we were till the finish. Three times they passed us, enveloped in a travelling roar of encouragements, and with each passing the supporters of Lyney and Kenny bayed and howled more emulously. The competitors, now, to all practical intent, reduced to the Kennys, père et fils, and Lyney, again disappeared on their last round, and the volleys of incitement became a dropping fire of criticism.
"Kenny's mare is the one, the others is too crippled."
"She'll not bate Lyney! Divil blast the bate she have in her! she's too dropped and too narra!"
"What horse is first?"
"I d'know; only one, I think."
"Look at young Kenny coming up on the father now!"
"Ah, there's more in the owld fella, never fear him!"
"Come on, Lyney! Come on, Kenny! Lyney! Lyney!"
Lyney won. The bee-like wickedness of the yellow mare apparently served her as well as youth, and despite the fact that she was but little over fourteen hands and was carrying twelve stone, she finished a dozen lengths in front. The interest of the race was at once transferred to the struggle for second place between the Kennys.