Eager helpers
ran forward to pick him up, but he was on his feet before they could
reach him, and came limping up the hill, a little bruised and infinitely
disgusted.
"He's all right," Murty said. "Yerra, Mr. Jim, did ye see the ould horse
jump! He wint ahead at his fences like a deer!"
The horses were in the timber; they peered anxiously at the bright patch
of colour that showed from time to time, trying to see the familiar
green jacket. Then, as the field came into view Murty uttered an
irrepressible yell, for his horse shot ahead at the next jump and came
into the straight in the lead. Murty gripped at the nearest object,
which happened to be Norah's shoulder, and clenched it tightly,
muttering, in his excitement, words in his native Irish. They thundered
up the straight, Billy crouching on Shannon's neck, very still. Then
behind him the Mulgoa horse drew out from the ruck and came in chase.
Nearer and nearer he came, while the shouts from the crowd grew louder.
Up, up, till his nose was at Shannon's quarter--at his girth--at his
shoulder, and the winning-post was very near. Then suddenly Billy lifted
his whip and brought it down once, and Shannon shot forward with a last
wild bound. Murty's hat went up in the air--and Wally's with it.
"He's done it!" Murty babbled. "Yerra, what about Billabong now?" He
suddenly found himself gripping Norah's shoulder wildly, and would have
apologized but that Norah herself was dancing with delight, and looking
for his hand to grasp.
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