So worn, so lean in every limb, It can't be they are saddling him! It is! his back the pig-skin strides And flaps his lank, rheumatic sides; With look of mingled scorn and mirth They buckle round the saddle-girth; With horsey wink and saucy toss A youngster throws his leg across, And so, his rider on his back, They lead him, limping, to the track, Far up behind the starting-point, To limber out each stiffened joint. [Illustration] [Illustration: "To limber out each stiffened joint"] As through the jeering crowd he past, One pitying look old Hiram cast; "Go it, ye cripple, while ye can!" Cried out unsentimental Dan; "A Fast-Day dinner for the crows!" Budd Doble's scoffing shout arose. Slowly, as when the walking-beam First feels the gathering head of steam, With warning cough and threatening wheeze The stiff old charger crooks his knees; At first with cautious step sedate, As if he dragged a coach of state; He's not a colt; he knows full well That time is weight and sure to tell; No horse so sturdy but he fears The handicap of twenty years. As through the throng on either hand The old horse nears the judges' stand, Beneath his jockey's feather-weight He warms a little to his gait, And now and then a step is tried That hints of something like a stride. [Illustration] "Go!"--Through his ear the summons stung As if a battle-trump had rung; The slumbering instincts long unstirred Start at the old familiar word; It thrills like flame through every limb-- What mean his twenty years to him? The savage blow his rider dealt Fell on his hollow flanks unfelt; The spur that pricked his staring hide Unheeded tore his bleeding side; Alike to him are spur and rein,-- He steps a five-year-old again! Before the quarter pole was past, Old Hiram said, "He's going fast." Long ere the quarter was a half, The chuckling crowd had ceased to laugh; Tighter his frightened jockey clung As in a mighty stride he swung, The gravel flying in his track, His neck stretched out, his ears laid back, His tail extended all the while Behind him like a rat-tail file! [Illustration] Off went a shoe,--away it spun, Shot like a bullet from a gun; The quaking jockey shapes a prayer From scraps of oaths he used to swear; He drops his whip, he drops his rein, He clutches fiercely for a mane; [Illustration]