"You won't," she cried with the old fierce, girlish note in her voice which so delighted him. "_After_ he's won the National," continued the young man calmly. "We'll see--_after_," replied Boy. They passed out of the Paddock Close on to the Downs. "How's he coming on?" asked Jim. "Monkey Brand says he's streets better than Cannibal," replied the girl. "We've never had anything to touch him in my time." This was one of few subjects on which the girl sometimes would flow. "Of course he's young for a National horse--only five, and she's in her prime. But he's got the head of an old horse on the body of a young one. Nothing flurries him--once you can get him going." "And the trouble is there's only one person who can get him going," mused the young man. "I don't know about that," she answered tartly. "He's only run the once in public. And that time he ran rings round his field. Albert was riding--not me." They were nearing the brow. A man was labouring up the hill in front of them. Old Mat pulled up, and the pair jogged up alongside him. The trainer nodded quietly at the heavy figure in front. "He's out," he wheezed. "On to it pretty quick, too. Heard we're goin' to gallop Fo'-Pound and he's come to see what he can see." The man drew to one side to let the riders pass. It was Joses; and he had changed. There was less of the sow and more of the wolf about him than of old. His shaggy whiskers were touched with gray, and there was something hard and fierce about his face. The old inflamed and flabby look had been hammered out of him in the hard school from which he had just emerged. He eyed the riders as they passed. Boy's grave eyes became graver and more self-contained. At once she was alert and had locked all her doors. In that firm, courageous face of hers there was no curiosity, no unkindness, and least of all no fear. The young man glancing at her thought he had never seen such strength manifest in any face; and it was not the strength that is based on hardness, for she was paler than her wont. Then she spoke. Her voice, deep as a bell and very quiet, surprised him in the silence. He had not expected it, and yet somehow it seemed to him beautifully appropriate. "Good morning, Mr. Joses," said the voice, and that was all; but it wrought a miracle. "Yes," growled the man in the wayside, "it wasn't you: it was Silver." The young man's face flashed white. He pulled up instantaneously. "What's that?" he said. Boy, riding on, called sharply over her shoulder: "Come on, Mr. Silver!" Reluctant as a dog to leave an enemy, the young man obeyed, and caught up the other two. "Little bit o' bitter," muttered the old man. He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. "I got him five year for himself," he went on querulously. "And now he ain't satisfied. No pleasin' some folk." CHAPTER XXXIII The Gallop On the Mare's Back a little group was awaiting the party.