The Marquis and the Viscount, racing knee and knee, have increased
their twelve yards by half, and now, as Barnabas watches, down go
their heads, in go their spurs, and away go chestnut and bay, fast
and faster, take off almost together, land fairly, and are steadied
down again to a rolling gallop.
And now, away races Carnaby, with Barnabas hard upon his left, the
pace quickens to a stretching gallop,--the earth flies beneath them.
Barnabas marks his take-off and rides for it--touches "The Terror"
with his spur and--in that moment, Carnaby's gray swerves. Barnabas
sees the danger and, clenching his teeth, swings "The Terror" aside,
just in time; who, thus balked, yet makes a brave attempt,--leaps,
is short, and goes down with a floundering splash, flinging Barnabas
clear.
Half-stunned, half-blinded, plastered with mud and ooze, Barnabas
staggers up to his feet, is aware in a dazed manner that horses are
galloping down upon him, thundering past and well-nigh over him; is
conscious also that "The Terror" is scrambling up and, even as he
gets upon his legs, has caught the reins, vaulted into the saddle,
and strikes in his spurs,--whereat "The Terror" snorts, rears and
sets off after the others. And a mighty joy fills his heart, for now
the hand upon his bridle restrains him no longer--nay, rather urges
him forward; and far in the distance gallop others of his kind,
others whom he scorns, one and all--notably a certain gray. Therefore
as he spurns the earth beneath him faster and faster, the heart of
"The Terror" is uplifted and full of rejoicing.
But,--bruised, bleeding and torn, all mud from heel to head, and
with a numbness in his brain Barnabas rides, stooped low in the
saddle, for he is sick and very faint. His hat is gone, and the cool
wind in his hair revives him somewhat, but the numbness remains. Yet
it is as one in a dream that he finds his stirrups, and is vaguely
conscious of voices about him--a thudding of hoofs and the creak of
leather. As one in a dream he lifts "The Terror" to a fence that
vanishes and gives place to a hedge which in turn is gone, or is
magically transfigured into an ugly wall. And, still as one in a
dream, he is thereafter aware of cries and shouting, and knows that
horses are galloping beside him--riderless. But on and ever on races
the great, black horse--head stretched out, ears laid back, iron
hoofs pounding--on and on, over hedge and ditch and wall--over fence
and brook--past blown and weary stragglers--his long stride unfaltering
over ploughland and fallowland, tireless, indomitable--on and ever on
until Barnabas can distinguish, at last, the horsemen in front.
Therefore, still as one in a dream, he begins to count them to
himself, over and over again. Yet, count how he will, can make them
no more than seven all told, and he wonders dully where the rest may
be.