H

XXI

"FENIAN" WINS

UGH cheered his father with the hope that he would win enough to meet his liabilities at Belcourt. He saw "Fenian"

before retiring. The horse was fed with new hay, and as the race was so near, he made arrangements with Jack to get two-year-old oats. "Fenian" improved slowly, and the day before the entries closed he ceased coughing.

Rose wrote frequently to Hugh, wishing him success. He was sorry she could not see him ride for her love and the fortune of his house.

Annie made a set of blankets, and bought gay ribbons to plait "Fenian's" forelock and mane. Three days previous to the Belcourt races Hugh gave the horse his first good gallop since the night ride. That evening he took the horse to Belmore, where he was the center of an interested crowd in Gilbert's forge. The smith shod "Fenian" with a set of racing plates.

There was a light-green silk jacket with orange sleeves, and also a green cap, hidden in the recesses of a wardrobe in Mrs. Hope's room. They were Hope's colors whenever, years before, he had run in races "open to animals the property of bone-fide tenant farmers." Annie carefully ironed the jacket and cap, and when Hugh tried them on, his father said proudly, "Orange and green is good enough for anything, but that jacket was never before carried on a thoroughbred. This is the first time, and I hope it's a win!"

"Remember that the poet has said, 'Orange and green will carry the day,'" laughed Hugh. "And never was there

more depending on a race than on mine to-morrow." Hugh went out to watch the slightest detail of "Fenian's" feeding. Noticing that the horse was eating too fast, he got two clean stones, as large as oranges, and put them in the oats; by which device of the expert horse-lover the animal was forced to eat slowly. All night Hugh rested little. One of his chief regrets was that if he did win, he would only lose the possession of this noble steed.

A cheerful spirit prevailed at the breakfast table, though Mrs. Hope occasionally referred with anxiety to the dangers of the steeplechase.

Belcourt race meeting was an annual affair, and was regarded in the locality. as the greatest in the world. It was eagerly anticipated and its various incidents discussed for months afterward. Curragh trainers sent their horses to it, and big racing men attended to see how the thoroughbreds wintered. A farmers' race was usually held, and frequently a pony handicap.

The entire Mintry family, with the exception of Mrs. Hope, who remained at home to pray for Hugh's safety, went to the track, three miles away. Hugh drove with them, while Jack and Joe had charge of "Fenian." His small head and quarters shone like satin and his eyes gleamed as though in appreciation of the admiring glances he evoked. As they reached the track, they saw Smith trying to escape the crowd of race-card sellers, who shouted: "Here you are, sir! Correct card and bill of the races-names, weights and colors! Official programmes! Correct card, sir! Card of the races!"

There was no stand for the races, but a wind-swept hill crowned the centre of the course, and from it every inch

of the track could be seen, every turn of the race followed. Though the track was supposed to be laid over a natural country, all the fences were artificial, constructed of furze and pine boughs. There were wings at the sides of each fence, and the front of each leap was secured by white painted boards which gave the horses no excuse for failure to jump.

In the enclosure on the summit of the hill, about one o'clock, a fat-faced, purple-gilled man began to shout prices on the first race. He wore a heavy overcoat, and his assistant, who was similarly dressed, flashed diamonds. from his fingers as he wrote his clients' names. In a few minutes the air was filled with raucous voices shouting odds. The betting men wore distinctive dresses. All were fat and pudgy, physically a great contrast to the sinewy farmers. The weighing-scale was set in a shed with a row of hastily constructed dressing-rooms in an enclosure on the summit. Shelves were laid for newspaper reporters, who wrote standing at their crude desks, while their feet were warm in a layer of barley straw.

The clerk of the races, an athletic individual whose hair was sprinkled with silver, called the jockeys' names. The first rider stepped nervously to the scales. The murmur of voices was higher than the rattle of his stirrups and bit, with the rusty iron weights playing see-saw with his slight, gailygarbed figure, the saddle-cloth, saddle and bridle. It was seen the rider wanted more weight. An attendant handed him a leaden rectangle to add to those already bulging in his saddle-cloth. Then he was too heavy. The trembling jockey hugged his saddle and held the fresh leads nervously until the scales balanced, and he was told to cut off. The weighing was tedious, but when the first horse passed out on his way to the course, the crowd roared with delight.

A field of nine runners faced the starter. The course was once and a half times around the track, and called for the jumping of fifteen fences. During the race the crowd surged and strove across the hill, and to the wings of the nearest "leps." It was a thoroughly Irish affair. The land war was temporarily forgotten. Every one was excited, and it seemed that sorrow or trouble could never find a haven in hearts so wildly happy. The horses were cheered across the fences. The "leps" of a steeplechase appeal to the Irish heart, which loves a spice of danger, provided man and beast get a fighting chance.

Before Hugh went to the dressingroom to strip for the Belcourt stakes, O'Brien handed him a letter bearing the Dublin post-mark. It was a packet of courage to Hugh-Rose's greetings and hopes for victory.

When he came from the dressingroom, where he was attended by his father and Jim, Hugh looked tall for a jockey. "Fenian's" age sent his weight among the highest, but Hugh was overweight, though he wore no underclothing and shivered under his overcoat. When his turn came, he took the twopound saddle and sat in the scale. The shining boots and white breeches sank, then the orange and green jacket. "Three pounds overweight," called the weight-master. "Next!"

"Don't fret," cried Dan Dillon; ""Tis better to have ten pounds live weight than five pounds of lead!"

The odds were "evens" on Roland, a grey Curragh chaser, who was a candidate for the Liverpool Grand National, while Garryowen and Trueheart rated next at two to one. "Fenian" opened at the greatest odds, which were eventually lowered to five to one. Brown Betty ranked at three to one. Tir-NaNog and Clancarty completed the field.

Hugh was rather nervous as he rode through the crowd. He knew that he

was riding against the best men and the fleetest horses in Ireland. With local pride, the crowd cheered the wearer of the orange and green, while a buzz of admiration followed the Indian red and amber of Roland's rider. Brown Betty shook her head and tossed out the blue and white hoops of her jockey's jacket as she cantered to the start. Garryowen's rider sported a green cap, blue and red sleeves. Trueheart's boy tried to make his mount behave as he rushed his ruby and cerise colors to the other dancing specks of silk, bobbing against the dark pine trees back of the starting barrier.

The betting men cried till their voices. sounded hoarse and indistinct; and then, amid a tumult, the field dashed away.

Trueheart made the running, with Garryowen and Clancarty hanging to his haunches. Three lengths away Brown Betty flew like a swallow skimming the earth, while Roland, pulling the arms off his rider, led "Fenian" by a stride. Over the first three fences they retained these positions, but Brown Betty, the smallest of the lot, rose first at the water jump. Roland, thinking the pace too slow, came up and jumped the next fence before the gallant little mare. Into the ploughed land they tore, with Trueheart third, and "Fenian" straining at his shoulder. The leaders threw clay against their immediate followers, and Hugh felt "Fenian" wince, as flying earth made his eyes smart. The weak winter sun flashed on the flying forms and the bright colors of the jockeys, as they swept down the stretch to begin the second circuit of the course.

"Hugh, boy, Hugh!" cried Hope, anxiously watching "Fenian's" game head and his stride like a coursing greyhound, and Hugh's jacket swelling like a toy balloon.

They tore into the three hundred yards of the rope-lined finish like a

""Fenian'! 'Fenian'!" shouted the crowd on the hillside. "Hugh! Hugh! Good boy!" cried Father Tom, one of a group of priests on a knoll outside the course, for ecclesiastical canons prohibited their presence inside except in case of death.

Roland floundered in the sticky clay of the ploughed land, but Hugh felt "Fenian" bounding lightly over the holding course. The horse's loss of weight stood him well, for "Fenian" closed with Roland passing the second last fence. Hugh could hear the telegraph wire by the roadside humming over his head as he urged his horse to the final struggle. In half an hour Rose would hear of his defeat or victory over these wires.

"Fenian's" straining head caught Roland's quarters, then it darkened the white breeches of Hugh's rival. They were neck and neck, with the red and amber in the lead.

"He's giving him the ash-plant, it's luckier than any riding-whip," roared Dan Dillon, as Hugh sent his flexible ash to "Fenian's" side, and also touched him for the first time with the sting of steel. Hugh's blood was up. "Fenian" must go well to clear the last fence. He thought the horse was going to stick his head into the white rails in front,

but he rose like a bird and got away first from the landing side. It was whip and steel, strike and stride, to the finish, but "Fenian" held his vantage, and in a noble and blood-stirring finish won by a head.

None could touch Hugh's hand, for he must be weighed before being declared victor; but the wild cheers of the crowd that surged around him and "Fenian" were sufficient congratulation. Then also Hugh learned that his midnight ride was known, for he heard cries of "The boy who could beat ould 'Buckshot' and made the big Belmore meeting!" and "A cheer for the man that beat 'The Pride of the Curragh!"

Jack held "Fenian" while Hugh took the saddle from the heaving horse and the bridle off his game head.

"All right!" cried the weigher, as Hugh brought the scale down.

He

The victor turned to congratulate Roland's rider, and then, gathering his gear, tried to evade the handshakes and felicitations of his excited friends. was rubbing the clay from his face and divesting himself of his mud-stained jacket when Jackson burst into the dressing-room.

XXII

BRIGHTENING PROSPECTS

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"I congratulate you, Hope. proud of you!" cried the agent, extending his hand.

"I can't refuse you," said Hugh slowly, as he grasped it. "But I'd like to have a private talk with you."

Jackson looked troubled, and replied: "I don't wonder, but the Knockboy affair is settled. I gave the requested reductions."

"Yes; but why did you tell the waterbailiffs to shoot?"

"It's a lie, Hope," cried Jackson, bitterly. "I simply wished to show my power to exert the authority vested in

me-that's why I tried to collect the rents-it was bravado, I admit I hope to be a better Irishman-but I never told the water-bailiffs to shoot."

"The cursed middlemen, the interlopers," exclaimed Hugh, as he extended his hand and grasped Jackson's warmly. "I am sorry I wronged you."

"Never mind, Hope. I wish you'd take your horse to England and beat their best."

"I'm not a racing man," answered Hugh. "I'll sell him, and then go to Edinburgh. to get my veterinary diploma."

"It's strange an Irishman can't get it in his own country," said Jackson, helping Hugh with his coat.

"There's many a thing strange about Ireland, but may understanding and unity grow," answered Hugh.

The owner of "Fenian," staked by O'Brien, won over a hundred pounds in bets while his father won enough to pay his debts. Hugh was the idol of the hour. The crowd was exultant in the satisfaction of having a local man beat the cracks from Curragh. The thought of Smith alone threw a shadow on the victory; though the dealer admired Hugh and "Fenian" as much as any of the crowd, whose survivors still recount every incident of that race.

Before "Roland's" rider had weighed in, the telegraph had buzzed the news to Dublin and to Rose. Next day Hugh rode "Fenian" to Marrick's and received from O'Brien the expected letter. Rose expressed her pride in his success, but was silent as to the future. On the evening of the same day, Hugh walked to Barry's. There was none more wrapped up in the race than the quiet farmer, but he delicately kept aloof, fearing some disappointment which would make his presence a worry to Hugh. For the same reason of delicacy he refrained from calling at Mintry to congratulate the victor. Con and Lar were carting rich black earth

to add to a pile when Hugh entered the field nearest the house.

"What's that?" he asked Barry, who had come out of the yard.

"River mud. I am mixing it with lime, and I don't intend to buy any foreign manure this year, but use this instead."

"You are draining the Corrach at the same time."

"Yes, it will pay me well, and the country, too, I hope."

"This is better than Dave's petitions," cried Hugh, delighted. "If the farmers took that, it would drain the Corrach, save thousands of pounds spent on fertilizing, and make the town healthier."

They spoke about the weather, as Barry disliked to talk about the races, but when Con and Lar left, Hugh could no longer conceal his joy and pride.

"Have you nothing to say about the race? Here's a hundred pounds for you," extending his hand in which he held ten ten-pound Bank of Ireland

notes.

"What do you mean?" said Barry, as he waved his arm in dissent, and stepped back.

"Only for you-" Hugh hesitated, for he did not wish his father's difficulties to be known. "Only for you we'd be in a bad way. I should give you more."

“That's your luck," gaily cried Barry. "I want ten pounds I lent you, nothing more. To tell you the truth, I never expected it, at least through 'Fenian.'

ter's plight, and from whom he had borrowed the price of "Fenian," if he did not desist. Hugh, fearing persuasion would only offend, handed the farmer a ten-pound note, and said sadly: "I am sorry, for you lost your barley crop."

"That wasn't your fault. I got it kiln-dried, and was lucky to get eleven shillings a barrel for it last week; besides, I have six yearlings Rose reared. Young cattle are going up, and I expect to get sixty pounds for them at the March fair in Ballinakill."

"But you owe money for manures." "Yes; but I'll owe none next year, and I may have a good yield in the barley in the turnip field next harvest, for it was mostly misses last year."

"I wish Ireland had more like you. You are winning a greater victory than mine of yesterday, for your example should inspire others to pluck and selfreliance."

"What's the use of making the 'poor mouth'?" smiled the resourceful farmer. "Bill wrote home last week from New York and said Ireland was not half so poor as people pretended. When he got away and saw other countries he realized it. But we are afraid."

"Yes, we should do everything inside out, from the way we are used to doing.”

Hugh was disappointed that Barry would not accept a favor in return for his kindness; but he turned to the future and wished impatiently for the Curragh April meeting. Meanwhile, Jim Hope was sent to Dublin to study

vent in Limerick, where Father Tom's sister was Reverend Mother. Hugh could not resume his studies in Ediburgh till September, for he had yet to train "Fenian" to the height of his powers for what he hoped would be his final triumphant trial. Mintry had never seemed so beautiful as in the weeks following the first victory. The