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Sport and Work on the Nepaul Frontier - Twelve Years Sporting Reminiscences of an Indigo Planter by James Inglis
page 86 of 347 (24%)

The others left at the post fret, and fidget, and curvet about. At
length they are again in line. Down goes the white flag! 'Good start!'
shouts an excited planter. Down goes the red flag. 'Off at last!'
breaks like a deep drawn sigh from the crowd, and now the six horses,
all together, and at a rattling pace, tear up the hill, over the sand
at the south corner, and up, till at the quarter mile post 'a blanket
could cover the lot.'

Two or three tails are now showing signals of distress; heels and whips
are going. Two horses have shot ahead, a bay and a black. 'Jamie' on
the bay, 'Paddy' on the black.

Still as marble sit those splendid riders, the horses are neck and
neck; now the bay by a nose, now again the black. The distance post is
passed with a rush like a whirlwind.

'A dead heat, by Jove!'

'Paddy wins!' 'Jamie has it!' 'Hooray, Pat!' 'Go it, Jamie!' 'Well
ridden!' A subdued hum runs round the excited spectators. The ardent
racers are nose and nose. One swift, sharp cut, the cruel whip hisses
through the air, and the black is fairly 'lifted in,' a winner by a
nose. The ripple of conversation breaks out afresh. The band strikes up
a lively air, and the saddling for the next race goes on.

The other races are much the same; there are lots of entries: the
horses are in splendid condition, and the riding is superb. What is
better, everything is emphatically 'on the square.' No _pulling_ and
_roping_ here, no false entries, no dodging of any kind. Fine, gallant,
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