blasphemous. All the betting at Buckatowndown was double-event--you had
to win the money first, and fight the man for it afterwards.

The start for our race, the Town Plate, was delayed for a quarter of an
hour because the starter flatly refused to leave a fight of which he was
an interested spectator. Every horse, as he did his preliminary gallop,
had a string of dogs after him, and the clerk of the course came full
cry after the dogs with a whip.

By and by the horses strung across to the start at the far side of the
course. They fiddled about for a bit; then down went the flag and they
came sweeping along all bunched up together, one holding a nice
position on the inside. All of a sudden we heard a wild chorus of
imprecations--"Look at that dog!" Victor had chipped in with the
racehorses, and was running right in front of the field. It looked a
guinea to a gooseberry that some of them would fall on him.

The owners danced and swore. What did we mean by bringing a something
mongrel there to trip up and kill horses that were worth a paddockful of
all the horses we had ever owned, or would ever breed or own, even if we
lived to be a thousand. We were fairly in it and no mistake.

As the field came past the stand the first time we could hear the
riders swearing at our dog, and a wild yell of execration arose from
the public. He had got right among the ruck by this time, and was racing
alongside his friend The Trickler, thoroughly enjoying himself. After
passing the stand the pace became very merry; the dog stretched out all
he knew; when they began to make it too hot for him, he cut off corners,
and joined at odd intervals, and every time he made a fresh appearance
the people in the stand lifted up their voices and "swore cruel".

The horses were all at the whip as they turned into the straight, and
then The Trickler and the publican's mare singled out. We could hear
the "chop, chop!" of the whips as they came along together, but the mare
could not suffer it as long as the old fellow, and she swerved off while
he struggled home a winner by a length or so. Just as they settled down
to finish Victor dashed up on the inside, and passed the post at old
Trickler's girths. The populace immediately went for him with stones,
bottles, and other missiles, and he had to scratch gravel to save his
life. But imagine the amazement of the other owners when the judge
placed Trickler first, Victor second, and the publican's mare thi