Livingstone's great local renown, and the reputation of the Axeine for
strength and speed (though no one knew how fast he _could_ go), made the
betting 5 to 4 on him; but takers were not wanting, calculating on the
horse's truly Satanic temper. Miss Bellasys, who, with her mother, had
arrived at Kerton the night before, laid half a point more--_not_ in
gloves--on the heavy-weight.
The bell for saddling rang, and the horses came out. The mare stripped
beautifully, as fine as a star--no wonder her mistress was proud of her;
and I think she had, to the full, as many admirers as the Axeine.
The latter was a dark chestnut with a white fetlock, standing full 16
hands (while the mare scarcely topped 15), well ribbed up, with a good
sloping shoulder, immense flat hocks, and sinewy thighs; his crest and
forehand were like a stallion's; and, when you looked at his quarters,
it was easy to believe what the Revesby stablemen said, "They could
shoot a man into the next county."
He was "orkarder than usual that morning," the groom remarked; perhaps
he did not fancy the crowd without the hounds, for he kept lashing out
perpetually, with vicious backward glances from his red eyes.
Then the riders showed: Livingstone in his own colors, purple and
scarlet cap, workmanlike and weather-stained; Forrester in the fresh
glories of light blue with white sleeves, his cap quartered with the
same.
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