rn the riderless horse followed, while his jockey lay
still for a moment, a little scarlet blur upon the turf. 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. And the crowd was shouting "Shannon! Shannon!
Billabong!"--since all of these Cunjee folk loved Billabong and were
steadily jealous of Mulgoa. Jim and Wally were thumping Murty on the
back. Bob and Mr. Linton stood beaming at him. Below them Billy came
trotting back on his victorious steed, sitting with a grave face, as
expressionless as if he had not just accomplished his heart's desire.
But his dark, mysterious eyes scanned the crowd as he turned from
weighing in, and only grew satisfied when he saw the Billabong party
hurrying to greet him. They shook his hand, and smote him on the back,
Dave Boone and Mick Shanahan prancing with joy. And Shannon, his glossy
coat dark with sweat, nuzzled again at Norah's pocket for an apple--and
this time got it.

This glorious event over, interest became focused on a trotting race,
which brought out a