hich made an
excellent landmark in the flat valley, rounding its patch of shade before
returning to the starting point. Drew brought Shiloh, still prancing and
playing with his bit, up beside Oro. The slim boy on the golden horse shot
the Kentuckian a shoulder-side look and grinned, raising his quirt in
salute as Drew nodded and smiled back.

Some of the noise died. _Don_ Lorenzo pointed a pistol skyward. Drew
strove to make his body one with Shiloh's small easy movements. The big
gray knew very well what was in progress, was tensing now for a swift
getaway leap. And he made it on the crack of the gun.

But if Shiloh had easily outdistanced all opposition before on those
improvised tracks, he was now meeting a far more equal race. The gray
colt's stride was effortless, he was pounding out with power--more than
Drew had ever known him to exert. Yet those golden legs matched his pace,
reach for reach, hoofbeat for hoofbeat.

"Come on, boy!" Drew's urging was lost in the wild shouting of the
spectators. Some who were mounted were trying to parallel the runners. But
Shiloh responded to his rider's encouragement even if he could not hear or
understand. Drew would never use quirt or spur on the stud. What Shiloh
had to give must come willingly and because he delighted in the giving.

They swept in and around the shade of the tree, made the arc to return.
That golden head with its tossing crown of black forelock; it _was_
slipping back! Oro was no longer nose to nose with Shiloh, rather now nose
to neck. Drew could hear Rivas' voice encouraging, pleading....

A mass of men, mounted and on foot, funneled the runners down to where the
line of rope lay straight to mark the finish. Oro was creeping up once
more, inch by hard-won inch.

Drew's head went up, his throat was rasped raw by the Yell which had taken
desperate gray-coated troopers down hedge-bordered roads in Kentucky and
steep ravines in Tennessee, sending them, if need be, straight into the
mouths of Yankee field guns. And the Yell brought Shiloh home, only a nose
ahead of his rival--as if he had been spurred by the now outlawed war cry.
Then Drew found he had his hands full trying to pull up the colt and
persuade him that the race was indeed over.

5

A black mule came up beside Drew as he slowly pulled Shiloh down to a
canter. Fenner, a wide grin splitting his beard, bellowed:

"That shore was a race! Need any help, son?"

Drew shook his head, wan