odly lead
again in a new course. But now that time was past, and he was tired and
weak. It was a straight-away race, with the hounds scarcely twenty feet
behind. Back of the latter, perhaps ten rods, were the riders, still
side by side as at first. Their horses were covered with foam and
blowing steadily, but nevertheless they galloped on gallantly. Bringing
up the rear, just in sight but now out of sound, was the buckboard. Thus
they approached the finish.

Inch by inch the dogs gained upon the rabbit. Standing in his stirrups,
Ben Blair, the seemingly stolid, watched the scene. The twenty feet
lessened to eighteen, to fifteen, and, turning his head, the man looked
at his companion. Beautiful as she was, there now appeared to his eye an
expression of anticipation,--anticipation of the end, anticipation of a
death,--the death of a weaker animal!

A determination which had been only latent became positive with Blair.
He urged on his horse to the uttermost and sprang past his companion.
His right hand went to his hip and lingered there. His voice rang out
above the sound of the horses' feet and of their breathing.

"Hi, there, Racer, Pacer!" he shouted. "Come here!"

There was no response from the hounds; no sign that they had heard him.
They were within ten feet of the rabbit now, and no voice on earth could
have stopped them.

"Pacer! Racer!" shouted Ben. There was a pause, and then the quick bark
of a revolver. A puff of dust arose before the nose of the leading dog.

Again no response, only the steadily lessening distance.

For a second Ben Blair hesitated; but it was for a second only. Florence
watched him, too surprised to speak, and saw what for a moment made her
doubt her own eyes. The hand that held the big revolver was raised,
there was a report, then another, and the two dead hounds went tumbling
over and over with their own momentum upon the brown prairie. Beyond
them the rabbit bounded away into distance and safety.

Without a word Ben Blair drew rein, returned the revolver to its
holster, and came back to where the girl had stopped.

"I beg your pardon," he said. "I'll pay you for the dogs, if you like."
A pause and a straight glance from out the blue eyes. "I couldn't help
doing what I did."

Having in mind the look he had last seen upon the girl's face, he
expected an explosion of wrath; but he was destined to surprise. There
was silence, instead, while two great tears gathered slowly in her sof