necks
were strained to catch a glimpse of the first that should appear where
the course took a slight turn.

In a few seconds the two leading horses are seen, the riders low over
their necks, and behind them, almost hidden by the dust, the crowd of
yelling, waving, shooting horsemen.

The Demon is leading, the Swallow close on his flank. As they come
within clear view the experienced eyes of the crowd see that while the
Demon, though as yet untouched by whip or spur, is doing all that is in
him, the Swallow is holding him easily. On all sides the men of the
west raise a paean of victory, "The Swallow! The Swallow! Good boy,
Kiddie! Let her go! Let her go!" "You've got him standing!" "Bully boy!"

Fifty yards from the winning post The Kid leans over his mare's neck
and shakes out his fluttering reins. Like the bird whose name she bears
the Swallow darts to the front, a length ahead. In vain the Captain
calls to the Demon, plying fiercely whip and spur. With nostrils
distended and blood-red, with eyes starting from their sockets, and
mouth foaming bloody froth, the noble animal responds and essays his
final attempt.

It is a magnificent effort. Slowly he creeps up to the Swallow's flank,
but beyond that he cannot make an inch, and so they remain to the
winning post.

Down the street behind the leaders, yelling wild oaths, shooting off
their guns, flinging hats in the air, and all enveloped in a cloud of
dust, thunders the pursuing cavalcade.

Just as the Swallow shoots to the front, out from the cloud of dust
behind, with his cowboy hat high in one hand and his reins fluttering
loosely in the other, Ike emerges on his beloved Slipper. At every
bound the buckskin gains upon the runners in front, but when level with
the Demon, Ike steadies him down, for he would not be guilty of the bad
taste of "shoving his nose into another man's fight," nor would he
deprive the little mare, who carried the fortunes of the men of the
west, of the glory of her victory.

The riot that follows the race passes description. The men from the
west go mad. About The Kid and his little mare they surge in a wave of
frantic enthusiasm. Into the Ranchers' Roost they carry the rider to
wash down the dust, while as many as can find room for a hand get
vigorously to work upon the Swallow.

After the riot had somewhat subsided and the street had become
partially clear, side by side, threading their way through the crowd,
appeared the two comp