iately, but to the old man's dismay, Travis's
mare shot away like a scared doe, trotting as frictionless as a
glazed emery wheel.

The old man shook up Ben Butler and wondered why he seemed to stand
so still. The old horse did his best, he paced as he never had
before, but the flying thing like a red demon flitted always just
before him, a thing with tendons of steel and feet of fire.

"Oh, God, Ben Butler, what is it--what? Have you quit on me, ole
hoss?--you, Ben Butler, you that come in answer to prayer? My God,
Cap'n Tom, Shiloh!"

And still before him flew the red thing with wings.

At the half, at the three-quarters: "Now ole hoss!" And the old horse
responded gamely, grandly. He thundered like a cyclone bursting
through a river-bed. Foot by foot, inch by inch, he came up to
Travis's mare. Nose to nose they flew along. There was a savage
yell--a loud cracking of Travis' whip in the blind horse's ears.
Never had the sightless old horse had such a fright! He could not
see--he could only hear the terrible, savage yell. Frightened, he
forgot, he dodged, he wavered--

"Steady, Ben Butler, don't--oh--"

It was a small trick of Travis', for though the old pacer came with a
rush that swept everything before it, the drive had been made too
late. Travis had the heat won already.

Still there was no rule against it. He could yell and crack his whip
and make all the noise he wished, and if the other horse was
frightened, it was the fault of his nerves. Everybody who knew
anything of racing knew that.

A perfect tornado of hisses met Travis at the grand-stand.

But he had won the heat! What did he care? He could scarcely stop his
mare. She seemed like a bird and as fresh. He pulled her double to
make her turn and come back after winning, and as she came she still
fought the bit.

As he turned, he almost ran into the old pacer jogging,
broken-hearted behind. The mare's mouth was wide open, and the
Bishop's trained eye fell on the long tusk-like lower teeth, flashing
in the sun.

Startled, he quivered from head to foot. He would not believe his own
eyes. He looked closely again. There was no doubt of it--she was
eight years old!

In an instant he knew--his heart sank, "We're robbed, Cap'n
Tom--Shiloh--my God!"

Travis drove smilingly back, amid hisses and cheers and the
fluttering of ladies' handkerchiefs in the boxes.

"How about the gloves and candy now?" he called to them with his cap
in his hand.

Abov