But fidget not, good Peacock! fret not, most excellent Pythagoras! one
moment more, and I am not the boy to baulk you. And here comes Harry on
the gray; by George! he makes the brushwood crackle! Now for a nasty
leap out of the tangled swamp! a high six-barred fence of rough trees,
leaning toward him, and up hill! surely he will not try it!
Will he not though?
See!--his rein is tight yet easy! his seat, how beautiful, how firm, yet
how relaxed and graceful! Well done, indeed! He slacks his rein one
instant as the gray rises! the rugged rails are cleared, and the firm
pull supports him! but Harry moves not in the saddle--no! not one hair's
breadth! A five foot fence to him is nothing! You shall not see the
slightest variation between his attitude in that strong effort, and in
the easy gallop. If Tom Draw saw him now, he could have some excuse for
calling him "half horse"--and he does see him! hark to that most
unearthly knell! like unto nothing, either heavenly or human! He waves
his hat and hurries back as fast as he is able to the horses, well
knowing that for pedestrians at least, the morning's sport is ended.
Harry and I were now almost abreast, riding in parallel lines, down the
rich valley, very nearly at the top speed of our horses; taking fence
after fence in our stroke, and keeping well up with the hounds, which
were running almost mute, such was the furious speed to which the
blazing scent excited them.
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