and they came like three thunderbolts to
the starting place; but reaching this they were not abreast, and
another start must be made. They tried four times before they got away
in line, when some one shouted: "Now they are off!" For a few paces
they were neck and neck; but then Hiram Ketcham's sorrel, though on the
outer circle forged ahead. When the half-mile point was reached, the
sorrel was several lengths in the lead, and Zibe Turner's black was
leading George LeMonde's bay by a dozen feet. They came in this
position down the home stretch, and as they crossed the line a great
cheering rose from the crowd. Turner's friends from the hills were
there in large numbers, and were the loudest in their shouts. "Go it,
Zibe; you'll beat, old boy!" "Hurrah for de black! push him along!"
"I'll bet my money on de Lexington hoss!" were some of the words that
were shouted at Turner as he dashed past the starting point for the
second mile. Hiram Ketcham did not lack for admirers, who encouraged
him with cheers and waving of hats and handkerchiefs. Many of the
farmers living in the rich river bottom seemed to be partial to the
sorrel horse. George LeMonde's friends were plentiful in the grand
stand and, in fact, throughout the crowd. They were somewhat
disappointed to behold him the last in the race; but they saw that
Velox was going well, and they had hopes for his winning during the
next mile.

As for young LeMonde, he saw nothing and gave heed to nothing except
the business in hand. Only once did he raise his eyes from looking
straight ahead between the ears of his noble horse, and that was when
he was passing the grandstand. Then he gave a swift look in that
direction, and was repaid by seeing a young girl of some sixteen years
of age, Stella Nebeker by name, dressed in a pure white muslin gown
with short sleeves, waving a delicate handkerchief toward him. For an
instant their eyes met, then he looked along the race course as before.

LeMonde had a method in his racing which he was now working. He knew
the reserved powers which were in his horse, and he purposely held him
back from putting forth his greatest speed at the beginning. Turner,
the monster dwarf, was also using all his skill in horse racing. His
monkeyish face was lighted up with a look of more intelligence than
usual, which made his ugly features more forbidding and repulsive. His
eyes shone with excitement, determination, and reckless courage. His
teeth were cl