“An Englishman named Willoughby was her owner. When he came out to this province with the intention of buying land and settling here, he brought Willoughby Girl with him, for she was the greatest mare in the world, in his opinion. The loss of her sickened him of the country. He spent thousands of pounds in searching for her. It was his belief that she had been run across the border, so it was in the states that he did all his searching.”
Jard was staring in open-eyed amazement at all this knowledge—so much clearer even than his own—but Vane seemed to take it as a matter of course and went right on.
“I have always been interested in this story of Willoughby Girl, and then I came across the records of Strawberry Lightning and the Willy Horse. Later on I saw both of them at different tracks—you see I am keen on horses, anyway—and heard a vague story about a stolen English mare that was their ancestor. As you say, the Willy Horse was a direct throw-back. I discovered they both came originally from this neck of the woods, and I came to investigate.
“I planned to keep it quiet about what I wanted, because I am not a rich man, but I am determined to own a horse of that strain. I know I needn’t worry about you and Miss Hassock, for I see that you are both sportsmen. But I must ask you to keep my mission to this part of the country under your hats. I want a horse, but I can’t pay any fancy price for one.”
Vane even fetched a leather portfolio from his room and showed Willoughby Girl’s pedigree to his host and hostess, whose interest was only too manifest.
Jard Hassock gloated over it, breathing heavily through his nose.
“If I could see Luke Dangler’s records—if Luke was halfway human—I could hitch my own little filly onto this here pedigree,” he whispered at last. “Onto this here royal pedigree! Can you beat it!”
