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The sunlight gleamed on the black horse's splendid side as they dashed up the track. As yet there had been no talk openly of a successor to Bobs that wound was still too sore. For the present Norah was to ride Garryowen, since Monarch was far too frivolous to stand a long spell; Jim would handle him for the months that must elapse before his father was in the saddle again. Later on, Jim and Mr.
Norah was on Garryowen, her face flushed and laughing, her head thrown back a little as the beautiful bay reefed and plunged forward, enjoying the speed as much as his rider. Jim was a length or so behind on Monarch, whose one ambition at that moment was, in Murty's words, "to get away on him." It was plain that the boy was exulting in the tussle.
He's that stupid, tin to one he's bushed in one av thim gullies." "Or else Bobs has slung him; but in that case Bobs would be back at the gate," Jim said. "Perhaps he is." "No, he ain't, Masther Jim, I wint over a bit an' had a look. There's no sign av either av thim." "Well, I suppose we'd better go after them," Jim said. "What'll you ride, Nor? Would you care for Garryowen?"
I fancy I hear Jack Brent's noble voice rolling out the sad, generous refrain of "The Deserter," "Then for that reason and for a season we will be merry before we go," or Michael Percy's clear tenor carolling the Irish chorus of "What's that to any one, whether or no!" or Mark Wilder shouting his bottle-song of "Garryowen na gloria."
Right dress!" rang the calm orders as a wood, almost behind them, was suddenly fringed with white smoke and a long, rolling crackle broke out. "By fours right-about wheel!" The band swung out to the right; the squadrons passed on; and "Steady! Trot! Steady right dress gallop!" came the orders. The wild music of "Garryowen" set the horses frantic and the men, too.
It was really an inspiriting sight to one whose heart was interested in the career, to see those gallant fellows, as, with their bronzed faces and stalwart frames, they stood motionless as a rock. As I continued to look, the band marched into the middle of the square, and struck up, "Garryowen." Scarcely was the first part played, when a tremendous cheer burst from the troop-ship in the river.
He swept the bush paddock with his eye as they came up to it, seeing nothing but the scattered bullocks here and there. "Wonder which way he'd go," he said. "Suppose you and Wally cut over to the right, Norah, and see if you can find any trace. I'll go over this way. We'll coo-ee to each other if we come across him." They separated, and Jim put Garryowen at a canter across the plain.
He selected a clean place on the top rail carefully, and cast his eye over the little mob standing in groups about the enclosure a dozen stock horses; the big pair of greys that were used in the covered buggy or the express wagon; the brown ponies that Norah drove; his own mount Betty, and Wally's mare Nan; and then the aristocrats, Garryowen and, last of all, Bobs.
Jim's hands were lifting Bobs' head as tenderly as she herself could have done it. He picked her up and held her as though she had been a baby, and she clung to him, shaking. "If I could help you!" he said, and there were tears in his eyes. "Oh, Nor. you know, don't you?" He felt her hand tighten on his arm. Then he carried her down the hill, where Garryowen stood waiting.
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