as far as you can see. The last thing I says to Mr. Van is:

"'You've got the step of them any place in the route, but you're on a
thoroughbred, 'n' he'll run hisself into the ground if you let him. You
don't know how to rate him right--so stay close to the Macbeth hoss till
you come to the last fence, then turn Rainbow loose, 'n' he'll make his
stretch-run alone.'

"There's six entries, but the race is between Rainbow and Macbeth from
the get-away. Macbeth is a black hoss, 'n' I never believed till then a
hunter could romp that fast. He was three len'ths ahead of the field at
the first fence, with Rainbow right at his necktie. They gets so far
ahead, nobody sees the other starters from the second fence on. Mr. Van
rides just like I tells him, 'n' lets the black hoss make the pace.
Man!--that hunter did run! Towards the end both hosses begin to tire,
but the clip was easier fur the thoroughbred, 'n' I see Rainbow's got the
most left.

"Before they come to the last fence Mr. Van turns his hoss loose like I
tells him, 'n' he starts to come away from Macbeth. My! but those swells
did holler! They never thought Rainbow has a chance. At the last fence
he's a len'th in front, 'n' right there it happens Mr. Van don't take
hold of him enough to keep his head up, 'n' he blunders at the fence 'n'
comes down hard on his knees. Mr. Van slides clear to the hoss's ears,
'n' the crowd gives a groan as Macbeth comes over 'n' goes by.

"'He's gone!' I says to myself, 'n' I can't believe it when he gets back
in the saddle somehow 'n' starts to ride. But the black hoss has a good
six len'ths 'n' now two hundred yards to go.

"'He'll never reach . . .' I says out loud. 'He'll never reach . . .'

"Then Rainbow begins his stretch-run with the blood comin' out of his
knees, 'n' while he's a tired hoss, a gamer one never looks through a
bridle. I ain't knockin' that hunter--there was no canary in him, but I
think a game thoroughbred's the gamest hoss that lives!

"Ole Rainbow is a straight line from his nose to his tail. His ears is
flat 'n' his mouth's half open fur air. Every jump he takes looks thirty
feet long 'n' he's gettin' to the black hoss fast. I'm watchin' the
distance to go 'n' all of a sudden I furgets where I am--.

"'He wins sure as hell!' I hollers.

"'Oh, will he?' says a voice. I looks up 'n' there's Miss Livingston
sittin' on her hoss, her fists doubled up 'n' her face whiter'n chalk.

"About ten