Such is Life | Page 9

brung on
another, an' at long an' at last we fell to, so we did; on' A'm dam but

they got the betther o' me, being three agin wan. A b'lee some o' me
ribs is bruk."
"I'm sorry to hear that," said Thompson, straining a point for courtesy.
"Are you an Orangeman too, sonny?" I asked the half-caste aside; for
the young fellow had a bunged eye, and a flake of skin off his
cheek-bone.
"No, by Cripes!" responded my countryman emphatically. "Not me.
That cove's a (adj.) liar. He don't give a dam, s'posin' a feller's soul gits
bashed out. Best sight I seen for many a day was seein' him gittin'
kicked. If the mean beggar'd on'y square up with me, I'd let summedy
else do his"----
"Thon's a brave wee shilty, sur-thon grey wan o' yours," broke in the
contractor, who had been conversing with Thompson, whilst looking
enviously at Fancy, hitched behind the wagon. "Boys o' dear," he added
reflectively, "she's jist sich another as may wee Dolly; an' A've been
luckin' fur a match fur Dolly this menny's the day. How oul' is she,
sur?"
"Six, this spring."
"Ay--that! Ye wud n't be fur partin' we her, sur? A'm mortial covetious
fur till git thon baste. Houl' an"--he pondered a moment, glancing first
at the honest-looking hack he was riding, then at the magnificent
animal which carried the half-caste. "Houl' an. Gimme a thrifle fur luck,
an' take ether wan o' them two. A'll thrust ye till do the leck fur me
some time afther."
He had been travelling with the red-headed fellow, and the fascination
of swapping was upon him, poorly backed by his suicidal candour. The
utter simplicity of his bracketing his own two horses--worth,
respectively, to all appearance, £8 and £30--and the frank confession of
his desire to have my mare at any price, made me feel honestly
compunctious.
"Now thon's a brave loose lump iv a baste," he continued, following my
eye as I glanced over the half-caste's splendid mount. "Aisy till ketch,
an' as quite as ye plaze."
"How old is he, Mr. M'Nab?"
"He must be purty oul', he's so quite and thractable. Ye kin luck at his
mouth. A don't ondherstand the marks myself."
I opened the horse's mouth. He was just five. I regret to record that I

shook my head gravely, and observed:
"You've had him a long time, Mr. M'Nab?"
"Divil a long. A got him in a swap, as it might be this time yistherday.
There's the resate. An' here's the resate the man got when he bought
him out o' Hillston poun'. Ye can't go beyant a poun' resate."
"Why do you want to get rid of the horse, Mr. M'Nab?"
"Begog, A don't want till git red iv the baste, sich as he is," replied
M'Nab resentfully. "But A want thon wee shilty, an' A evened a swap
till ye, fur it's a prodistaner thing nor lavin' a man on his feet, so it is."
"See anything wrong with the horse, Steve?" I asked in an undertone.
"Perfect to the eye," murmured Thompson. "Try him a mile, full tilt."
I made the proposal to M'Nab, and he eagerly agreed. At my suggestion,
the half-caste unhitched and tried Fancy, while I mounted the black
horse, and turned him across the plain. I tried him at all paces; but
never before had I met with anything to equal that elastic step and long,
easy, powerful stride. To ride that horse was to feel free, exultant,
invincible. His gallop was like Marching Through Georgia, vigorously
rendered by a good brass band. All that has been written of man's
noblest friend-- from the dim, uncertain time when some unknown
hand, in a leisure moment, dashed off the Thirty-ninth chapter of the
Book of Job, to the yesterday when Long Gordon translated into
ringing verse the rhythmic clatter of the hoof-beats he loved so well--all
might find fulfilment in this unvalued beast, now providentially owned
by the softest of foreigners.
"Well?" interrogated M'Nab, as I rejoined him.
"Don't you think he's a bit chest-foundered?" I asked in reply.
"Divil a wan o' me knows. Mebbe he is, begog. Sure A hed n't him long
enough fur till fine out."
"And how much boot are you going to give me?" I asked, with a feeling
of shame which did honour to my heart.
"Och, now, lave this! Boot! is it? Sure A cud kerry thon wee shilty
ondher may oxther! Ye have a right till be givin' me a thrifle fur luck.
A'll let ye aff we two notes."
But after five minutes' more palaver, M'Nab agreed to an even swap. I
had pen and ink in my pocket; my note-book supplied paper; and
receipts were soon exchanged. Then