e the judges had hung out:

_6th Heat:_ _Lizzette, 1st_; _Ben Butler, 2nd._ _Time_, 2:14.

When Flecker of Tennessee saw the time hung out, he jumped from his
seat exclaiming: "Six heats and the last heat the fastest? Who ever
heard of a tired mare cutting ten seconds off that way? By the
eternal, but something's wrong there."

"Six heats an' the last one the fastest--By gad, sah," said Col.
Troup. "It is strange. That mare Lizzette is a wonder, an' by gad,
sah, didn't the old pacer come? By gad, but if he'd begun that drive
jus' fifty yards sooner--our money"--

Flecker groaned: "We're gone, Colonel--one thousand we put up and the
one we hedged with."

"By gad, sah, but, Flecker, don't you think Lizzette went smoother
that last heat? She had a different stride, a different gait."

Flecker had not noticed it. "But it was a small thing," he said--"to
frighten the old horse. No rule against it, but a gentleman--"

The Colonel smiled: "Damn such gentlemen, sah. They're a new breed to
me."

The old man went slowly back to the stable. He said nothing. He
walked dazed, pale, trembling, heart-broken. But never before had he
thought so keenly.

Should he expose Travis?--Ruin him, ruin him--here? Then there passed
quickly thoughts of Cap'n Tom--of Miss Alice. What a chance to
straighten every thing out, right every wrong--to act for Justice,
Justice long betrayed--for God. For God? And had not, perhaps, God
given him this opportunity for this very purpose? Was not God,--God,
the ever merciful but ever just, behind it all? Was it not He who
caused him to look at the open mouth of the first mare? Was it not He
giving him a chance to right a wrong so long, so long delayed? If he
failed to speak out would he not be doing every man in the race a
wrong, and Cap'n Tom and Shiloh, and even Miss Alice, so soon to
marry this man--how it went through him!--even God--even God a wrong!

He trembled; he could not walk. He sat down; Jack and Bud had the
horse, the outlaw's eyes flashing fire as he led him away. But Bud,
poor Bud, he was following, broken-hearted, blubbering and still
saying between his sobs: "Great--hoss--he skeered him!"

The grand-stand sat stupefied, charged to the explosive point with
suppressed excitement. Six terrible heats and no horse had won three.
But now Lizzette and Ben Butler had two each--who would win the next,
the decisive heat. God help the old preacher, for he had no chance.
Not after the speed