Bred In The Bone Part 5

"Yes, but he never had a chance--a mere flash. You can't expect a common pick-up to run against a field like that."

Mr. Newby turned back to the girl, who was leaning forward watching the horse going over the hill.

"Well, Miss Catherine, ready to ask terms yet?"

"No; was n't that the water-jump!"

"Yes; but he has got to go over it again. Come, I 'll bet you twenty to one he does n't win."

"Done."

"Now I 'll bet you a hundred and twenty to one he does n't get a place."

"Done."

"Now I 'll even things up, and bet you he does n't come in------"

"Done!" said the girl, turning on him with a sudden flash. "He shall come in, if I have to go down there and ride him in myself."

An exclamation from one of the others broke in on this banter:

"Blessed if he is n't gaining on them!"

And sure enough, as the brown horse came out from beyond the hill, though he was still far to the rear of the field, he had undoubtedly lessened the gap between them. The young girl's eyes sparkled.

"Oh, he can't keep it up. He 's riding his heart out," said one of the other gentlemen, with his gla.s.ses to his eyes. "But he 's a better horse than I thought, and if he had had a rider he might----"

"He has got to make the Liverpool, and he 'll never do it," said Mr.

Newby. "There he goes now. Watch him. Jupiter! he 's over!"

"Did you see that jump? He 's got stuff in him!"

"But not enough. He 's got to go around once and a half yet."

"The blue is leading." "Red-jacket is coming up." "The green is done for," etc.

So it went, with the horses coming around the curve for the second time.

The favorite and about half the others were running well, their riders beginning to take the pace they proposed to keep to the end. Several others were trailing along behind at various distances, among them the two horses that had shot out in the lead at first, and behind all but the last one, which was manifestly already beaten, the big brown horse, galloping with head still up and ears still pointed forward, bent on catching the horses ahead of him.

The field swept by the stands, most of them getting safely over the big water-jump, though several of the horses struck hard, and one of them went on his knees, pitching his rider over his head. The country horse had still to take the leap, and all eyes were on him, for it was the jump he had refused. Bets were offered that he would refuse again, or that after his killing chase he would be too winded to clear it and would go down. At any rate, they agreed the boy who was riding him was crazy, and he could never last to come in.

Old Robin ran across the track to try and stop him. He waved his arms wildly.

"Pull out. You 'll kill him! Save him for another time. Don't kill him!" he cried.

But the young rider was of a different mind. The vision of two girls was in his thoughts--one a young girl down on an old plantation, and the other a girl in white in a front box in the club. She had looked at him with kind eyes and backed him against the field. He would win or die.

The horse, too, had his life in the race. Unheeding the wild waving of the old trainer's arms, he swept by him with head still up and ears still forward, his eyes riveted on the horses galloping in front of him.

Once or twice his ears were bent toward the big fence as if to gauge it, and then his eyes looked off to the horses running up the slope beyond it. When he reached the jump he rose so far from it that a cry of anxiety went up. But it changed to a wild shout of applause as he cleared everything in his stride and lighted far beyond the water. Old Robin, whose arms were high in the air with horror as he rose, dropped them, and then, jerking off his hat, he waved it wildly around his head.

"He can fly. He ain't a hoss at all; he 's a bud!" he shouted. "Let him go, son; let him go! You 'll win yet."

But horse and rider were beyond the reach of his voice, galloping up the slope.

Once more they all disappeared behind the hill, and once more the leaders came out, one ahead of the others, then two together, then two more, running along the inside of the fence toward the last jumps, where they would strike the clear track and come around the turn into the home stretch. The other horses were trailing behind the five leaders when they went over the hill. Now, as they came out again, one of the second batch was ahead of all the others and was making up lost ground after the leaders. Suddenly a cry arose: "The yellow! The orange! It 's the countryman!"

"Impossible! It is, and he is overhauling 'em!"

"If he lives over the Liverpool, he 'll get a place," said one of the gentlemen in the club box.

"But he can't do it. He must be dead," said Mr. Newby. "There goes one now. The red-jacket 's down."

"I 'm out," said Mr. Galloper. "He 's up all right."

"He 'll get over," said the girl. "Oh, I can't look! Tell me when he 's safe." She buried her face in her hands.

"There he goes. Oh!"

"Oh, is he down!" she panted.

"Jove! No--he 's over clear and clean, running like a streak," said the gentleman, with warm admiration. "He 's safe now. Only two more hurdles.

It 's all clear. That boy is riding him, too."

The girl sprang to her feet.

"Give me your gla.s.ses. It is--it is! He 's safe!" she cried. She turned to Newby who stood next to her. "Ask quarter and I 'll let you off."

"He 'll never be able to stand the track. It 's fetlock-deep."

But at that moment the horses turned into the track, and the real race began. Newby's prophecy went to the winds. As was seen, the leaders were riding against each other. They had dropped out of account all the other horses. They had not even seen the brown. The first thing they knew was the shout from the crowd ahead of them, blown down to them hoa.r.s.ely as the big brown horse wheeled into the stretch behind them. He was ahead of the other horses and was making hotly after the four horses in the lead. He was running now with neck outstretched; but he was running, and he was surely closing up the gap. The blood of generations of four-mile winners was flaming in his veins. It was even possible that he might get a place. The crowd began to be excited. They packed against the fences, straining their necks.

How he was running! One by one he picked them up.

"He 's past the fourth horse, and is up with the third!"

The crowd began to shout, to yell, to scream. The countryman, not content with a place, was bent on winning the race. He was gaining, too.

The two leaders, being well separated, were easing up, Hurricane, the bay, in front, the black, the favorite, next, with the third well to the rear. The trainers were down at the fence, screaming and waving their arms.

They saw the danger that the riders had forgot.

"Come on! Come on!" they shouted.

Old Robin was away down the track, waving like mad. Suddenly the rider of the second horse saw his error. The rush of a horse closing up on him caught his ear. He looked around to see a big brown horse with a white blaze in the forehead, that he had not seen since the start, right at his quarter, about to slip between him and the fence. He had just time to draw in to the fence, and for a moment there was danger of the two horses coming down together.

At the sight old Robin gave a cry.

"Look at him! Runnin' my hoss in de fence! Cut him down! Cut him down!"