ears long and wide apart, and there was
something immensely masculine about him. He looked, with his great plain
head, the embodiment of Work and Character: a piece of old furniture
designed for use and not for ornament, massive, many-cornered, and
shining from centuries of work and wear.

That lean head of his, hollow above the eyes, and with a pendent upper
lip, was so ugly as to be almost laughable; and his lazy and luminous
eye looked out on the world with a drolling, almost satirical, air, as
much as to say:

"It's all a great bore, but it might well be worse."

"A thundering great hoss," muttered Old Mat. "I don't know as ever I see
his equal for power. Cannibal stood as high, but he hadn't the girth on
him. And Cannibal was a man-eatin' mule, he was. Savage you soon as look
at you. I never went into his loose-box without a pitchfork. I seen him
pull his jockey off by the toe of his boot afore now. But him!--he's a
Christian. A child could go in to him and climb on to his back by way of
his hind-leg. Look at them 'ocks," he continued in the low, musing voice
of the mystic. "Lift you over a house. And a head on him like a
pippopotamus."

Jim Silver's eyes followed the line of the horse's quarters.

"He's come on a lot since Christmas," he remarked. "He's less ragged
than he was."

"You could hang your hat on him yet, though," said the old man. "Walk
him round, Brand."

The little jockey, now in the saddle, obeyed.

Four-Pound-the-Second shook his head and, blowing his nose, strode
round with that wonderful swing from the hocks which made Mr. Haggard
once say that the horse walked like a Highland regiment marching to the
pipes.

"He's on C springs," said Mat, watching critically. "See where he puts
his hind-feet--nigh a foot in front of the marks of his fore; and I
don't know as I knows a knowin'er hoss. Look at that head-piece. He's
all the while a-thinkin', that hoss is. That's the way he's bred. If
they're much with human beings they picks up our tricks, same as dogs.
He'd take to drink, he would, only he ain't got the cash."

Boy had stripped off her long riding-coat and sat on the tall
Silvertail, a slight figure in breeches and boots, her white shirt
fluttering in the wind, her face calm and resolute.

Mat kicked his pony forward.

"Four-mile spin and let him spread himself," he grunted. "I want to see
him move to-day. And you, Jerry, ride that Lollypop out. He'll save
himself if you'll let him