ewise noted it--with a thumping heart that sent the color
surging over his face. Habitually he held himself well in hand--it
amazed and angered him to find himself thus swept beyond himself. To
all of us come moments when instinct masters reason--the primal
masculine instinct of possession told him he would win or lose his
quicksilver sweetheart on the issue of this race.

Now she had no thought of him--her eyes were only for the course,
where four horses ran like a team as never any of them had run before.
All through the first quarter of this fateful last half, they held
each other safe, running side by side, stride for stride.

At the furlong pole beyond, Tay Ho's hooded head for the first time
showed in front--only to be instantly eclipsed by the white star of
Aldegonde. Aramis began to hang--the angry roar of his backers told he
was out of it. Simultaneously, the jockeys sat down to ride--there was
the cruel swish of catgut, the crueler prodding of steel. In the crowd
a great hushed breath, like the sigh of a forest before the storm,
told of tense heartstrings.

Almost instantly the sigh changed to a shouted roar as Tay Ho dropped
back level with Aramis, leaving Aldegonde and the Heathflower thing
half a length to the good. But next breath the falterers came
again--together they held their place, their way, four mighty masses
of blood and bone, of breath and fire and stay, fighting it out every
inch of the way, with a living sea roaring, shouting, cursing, crying
encouragement on either hand.

How they lay down to it! How they came up!

Stretch and gather! Stretch and gather, the game and gallant foursome
held to it. Now, for the first time, the Heathflower thing showed all
that was in her. Even those who stood to lose fortunes felt that her
whirlwind rush deserved to win.

A hundred yards from the wire, whips still flying, rowels plowing
furrows in satin coats, Aramis staggered, half stumbled, then fell
back an open length.

Tim flung away his whip, and leaned far over, lying almost flat upon
the Flower's neck to shout in her ear: "You see dat dar Mister
Aldergown! Dee calls him bulldawg! Tote yosef, gal! Show 'im you's
bulldawg, too." Perhaps the Flower resented the caution. Certainly,
she hung a bit in the next stride. Tay Ho and Aldegonde, running
either side of her, almost let in daylight between.

The cheers, the roars, mounted in deafening volume. The Heathflower
thing answered them by going down,