egan to thin and then came through with the hurricane
rush that had become famous. A consummate judge of pace, sure of
himself, sure of his mount, Chukkers never feared to wait in front; and
the mare, indeed, was never happy elsewhere. Once established in the
pride of place, the fret and fever left her, she settled down to gallop
and jump, and jump and gallop, steady as the Gulf Stream, strong as a
spring-tide, till she had pounded her field to pieces.

The thousands waiting for the Mocassin rush were not disappointed.

The turn for home once made, and Valentine's Brook with its fatal drop
left behind, the mare and her stable-mate came away like arrows from the
bow.

She lay on the rails, her guardian angel hard on her right.

Jackaroo might be old, but he was still as good a two-miler as any in
England.

The pair caught their horses one after one and left them standing; and
the roar of the multitude was like that of the sea as the defeated host
melted away behind.

At last only the Irish horse refused to give place to the importunate
pair. Twice they challenged, and twice the gray shook them off. They
came again; and for a while the star-spangled jacket, the purple and
gold, the cerise and white, rose at their fences like one.

The Irish division were in screaming ecstasies.

Then the roar of New England, overwhelming all else, told that the mare
was making good.

Moonlighter's jockey saw he was beaten for the moment at least and took
a pull.

As Mocassin's swift bobbing head swung round the corner on to the
straight, she was alone save for her stable-companion, and his work was
done.

"He's seen her through," muttered Old Mat. "Now he can go home to bed."

Indeed, as Jackaroo sprawled down the straight, still hanging to the
quarters of the mare, he looked like a towel-rail on which wet clothes
had been hung, and Rushton had ceased to ride.

The mare, fresh as the old horse was failing, came along in front of the
Grand Stand, clipping the grass with that swift, rhythmical stroke of
hers and little fretful snatch at the reins, neat and swift and strong
as a startled deer.

Chukkers sat still and absorbed as a cat waiting over a mouse's hole.

All eyes were on him. Nothing else was seen. His race was won. Last
year's defeat had been avenged. America had made good. A roar as of an
avalanche boomed and billowed about him. The thousands on the stands
yelled, stamped and cooeyed.

"Hail, Columbia!" bello