t in front, and his rider leaned in the
saddle with arm suspended and a quirt which never fell. The rest were a
close group where whips worked ceaselessly, except that in the rear of
all the rest the little gray horse ran without urge, smoothly, as if his
rider had given up all hope of winning and merely allowed his horse to
canter through.

"D'you see?" screamed Townsend. "Is that what you know about hosses, Mr.
Connor? Look at Cliff Jones's Lightning! What do you--"

He cut his upbraidings short, for Connor's was a grisly face, white
about the mouth and with gathered brows, as though, with intense effort,
he strove to throw the influence of his will into that mass of
horse-flesh. The hotel-keeper turned in time to see Lightning, already
buckling under the strain, throw up his head.

The heavy burdens, the deep, soft going, and the fact that none of the
horses were really trained to sprint, made the half-mile course a very
real test, and now the big leader perceptibly weakened. Out of the pack
shot a slender brown body, and came to the girth--to the neck of the
bay.

"The stallion!" shouted Townsend. "By God, you do know hosses! Who'd of
thought that skinny fellow had it in him?"

"He'll die," said Connor calmly.

The bay and the brown went back into the pack together, even as Connor
spoke, though the riders were flogging hard, and now the roan drew to
the front. It was plain to see that he had the foot of the rest, for he
came away from the crowd with every leap.

"Look! Look! Look!" moaned Townsend. "Two for one! Look!" He choked with
pleasure and gripped Connor's arm in both his hands in token of
gratitude.

Now the race bore swiftly down the finish, the horses looming bigger;
their eyes could be seen, and their straining nostrils now, and the
desperate face of each rider, trying to lift his horse into a great
burst.

"He's got it," sobbed Townsend, hysterical. "Nothin' can catch him now."

But his companion, in place of answer, stiffened and pointed. His voice
was a tone of horror, almost, as he said: "I knew, by God, I knew all
the time and wouldn't believe my eyes."

For far from the left, rounding the pack, came a streak of gray. It
caught the brown horse and passed him in two leaps; it shot by the
laboring bay; and only the roan of Charlie Haig remained in front. That
rider, confident of victory, had slipped his quirt over his wrist and
was hand-riding his horse when a brief, deep yell of dismay f