denly he
acquiesced and quiet again, he took the sombre path. Geth thrust his
right hand into his pocket, the revolver was still there. His hand
left it and rested on the bobbing, tasseled mane.

"Old man," he addressed the horse, "I know you don't know where
you're going and I know you don't remember much, but you must
remember Saratoga and how we beat them all. And Cuddy, you'd
understand--if you could--how it's all over now and why I want to
do it for you myself."

The woods were cleared. It was good to leave their muffled dampness
for the pure sunshine of the crest. On the very top of the hill
clean-cut against the sky stood a great wind-misshaped pine. At the
foot of this pine was a bank of fresh earth and Gething knew that
beyond the bank was the trench. He bent in his saddle and pressed
his forehead against the warm neck. Before his eyes was the past
they had been together, the sweep of the turf course, the grandstand
a-flutter, grooms with blankets, jockeys and gentlemen in silk,
owners' wives with cameras, then the race that always seemed so
short--a rush of horses, the stretching over the jumps, and the
purse or not, it did not matter.

He straightened up with a grim set to his jaw and gathered the
loosened reins. Cuddy went into a canter and so approached the earth
bank. Suddenly he refused to advance and again the two wills fought,
but not so furiously. Cuddy was shaking with fear. The bank was a
strange thing, a fearsome thing, and the trench beyond, ghastly. His
neck stretched forward. "Heh, heh!" he blew through his nostrils.

"Six steps nearer, Cuddy." Geth struck him lightly with his spurs.
The horse paused by the bank and began rocking slightly.

"Sist! be quiet," for they were on the spot Gething wished. The
horse gathered himself, started to rear, then sprang into the air,
cleared earth-mound and trench and bounded down the hill. The
tremendous buck-jump he had so unexpectedly taken, combined with his
frantic descent, gave Gething no chance to get control until the
level was reached. Then, with the first pull on the bridle, he
realized it was too late. For a while at least Cuddy was in command.
Gething tried all his tricks with the reins, the horse dashed on
like a furious gust of wind, he whirled through the valley, across a
ploughed field, over a fence and into more pastures. Gething, never
cooler, fought for the control. The froth blown back against his
white shirt was rosy with blood. Cudd