First came a two-mile steeplechase, with brush hurdles. Then, after a
couple of minor events, a four-mile point-to-point race for hunters
ridden by gentlemen in hunt uniform. This was as stiff a race for both
horses and riders as I have ever seen, and it was very picturesque to
watch the pink coats careering up hill and down dale, now over a tall
stone wall, now over a brook or a snake fence; and when a rider went
head over heels, and lay still upon the ground where he fell, while his
horse cantered along after the field, in that aimless and pathetic way
that riderless horses have, one had a real sensation--which was the
pleasanter for knowing, a few minutes later, that the horseman had only
broken an arm.
Next was run a rollicking race for horses owned by farmers, and others,
whose land is hunted over by the Piedmont and Middleburg foxhounds; and
last occurred a great comedy event--a mule race, free for all, in which
one of the hunting men, in uniform, made such a handsome showing against
a rabble of white and colored boys, all of them yelling, all of them
beating their long-eared animals with sticks, that he would have won,
had he not deliberately pulled his mount and "thrown" the race.
The last event was not yet finished when my companion, who had become
nervous about his interurban trolley, got into a machine to drive to
Bluemont.
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