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From Page 26
breath, I spur my old gelding in the sides and he responds (with bewilderment, 1 believe) and went galloping head strong toward “yon steeple."
I could hear Eddie behind me swearing things that he would apologize for the next morning at mass. The gist of his message was that I wa,s a “dirty rat” and “stole the start." - So we race along head to toe, oyer the first stone wall and the next hedge. At the corner of Ole Man Gallagher's sheep field we turn sharply right and head toward the big open ditch, the one we never jump while chasing the fox, if given the choice.
Eddie lands in front, and gathering his reins and speeds away from us. My gelding is tired and I should have swallowed my pride and pulled up, but I’m Irish. I had to keep going.
Eddie is still within my sight the last time he looked over his shoulder to check my progress. 1 can make out a victorious smirk on that rosy face — that is, until his
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