e in the face with rage.

Flecker laughed.

They all turned again and came down, the numbers on the drivers' arms
showing 1, 2, 3, 4--Travis, Troup, Flecker, and the old Bishop,
respectively.

"Ben Butler, ole hoss, this ain't no joke--you mus' go this time. We
ain't goin' to meetin'--Stretch them ole legs as you did!--oh, that's
better--ef we could only score a few more times--look!--ah!"

_Clang--clang--clang!_

This time it was Col. Troup's mare. She broke just at the wire.

"She saved us that time, Ben Butler. We wus two rods behind--"

They came down the third time. "Now, thank God, he's jes' beginnin'
to unlimber," chuckled the old man as the old pacer, catching on to
the game and warming to his work, was only a length behind at the
wire, as they scored the fourth time, when Flecker's mare flew up in
the air and again the bell clanged.

The crowd grew impatient. The starter warned them that time was up
and that he'd start them the next time they came down if he had the
ghost of a chance.

Again they aligned and came thundering down. The old man was pale and
silent, and Ben Butler felt the lines telegraphing nervous messages
to his bitted mouth; but all he heard was: "_Shiloh--Cap'n
Tom--Steady, old hoss!_"

"Go!"

It sounded like a gun-shot in the old man's ears. There was a whirr
of wheels, a patter of feet grappling with dirt and throwing it all
over him--another whirr and flutter and buzz as of a covey flushed,
and the field was off, leaving him trailing.

"Whew, Ben Butler, we're in fur it now--the Lord 'a-mussy on our
souls! Take the pole--s'artenly,--it's all yowin, since you're
behin'! Steady ole hoss, there's one consolation,--they're breakin'
the wind for you, an' thank God!--yes Ben Butler, look! they're after
one other,--they're racin' like Tam O'Shanter an' cookin' each other
to a gnat's heel--Oh, Lord what fools! It'll tell on 'em--if we can
only save our distance--this heat--jes' save our distance--Wh-o-p,
sah! Oh, my Lord, told you so--Troup's mare's up an' dancin' like a
swamp rabbit by moonlight. Who-op, sah, steady ole hoss--there now
we've passed him--Trombine and Lizette ahead--steady--let 'em go, big
devil, little devil, an' pumpin' each other--Go now, go old hoss,
now's the time to save our distance--go old hoss, step lively
now--'tain't no meetin', no Sunday School--it's life, bread and a
chance for Cap'n Tom! Oh, but you ain't forgot entirely,
no-no,--ain't forgot that you