‘Well, we can stick to ’em when we are there,’ sarcastically observed Mr. Banks; ‘I’ll bet you the fiver I was going to give Neuchamp, you don’t sit for ten minutes on that chestnut colt Jack Windsor’s coming up here with now, and he’s ridden him, now it’s the third day.’
Charley Banks emphasised the last number of the colt’s daily experiences of man, as if no one but an elderly capitalist, with gout or asthma, could possibly decline so childishly safe a mount.
‘Done with you!’ shouted the roused son of Erin. ‘One would think you conceited cornstalks had discovered the horse, in this sandy wilderness of a country of yours, and that no one had ever ridden or shot flying before he came here.’
‘I don’t know about shooting,’ said the lad reflectively, ‘but I’m dashed if ever I saw a new arrival that could sit a buck-jumper, even if he only propped straightforward, and didn’t do any side-work. Anyway, we’ll see in about five minutes.’
Here Mr. Windsor arrived upon a bright chestnut colt, with three white legs, and a blaze down the face, and a considerable predominance of the same colour into the corners of his eyes, thus giving an expression more peculiar than engaging to those organs, when used for the purpose of staring at the rider. In addition to these peculiarities, he had an uneasy tail, always moving from side to side with a feline, quietly-exasperated expression.
‘Good-morning, sir,’ said Jack to Ernest. ‘Good-morning, gentlemen all; fine growing weather.’
‘No finer,’ said Barrington; ‘how are you getting on with the colts?’
‘Not bad,’ answered the horse-tamer; ‘I’ve backed two a week since I came, and have three in tackle, in the yard now. This one’s a fine colt to go, but he’s rather unsettled when the fit takes him.’
‘Sorry for that, for I’ve a bet with Mr. Banks here that I’ll mount him and stay on for ten minutes. Sure, ye knew, ye artful colonist, that he was a divil; you won’t refuse me the mount, Jack, me boy, breaker to his Highness the Grand Duke of Garrandilla?’
‘Not I, Mr. Barrington, if you’ve got a neck to spare, but you’ll bear in mind yourself—he’s a sour devil when his blood’s up; and mayn’t like a stranger. Though he’s pretty fair now.’