"Holley, you use the glass--an' tell me what comes off," said Bostil, as he
wiped his eyes with his scarf. He was relieved to find that his sight was
clearing. "My God! if I couldn't see this finish!"
Then everybody watched the close, dark mass of horses and riders down the
valley. And all waited for Holley to speak. "They're linin' up," began the
rider. "Havin' some muss, too, it 'pears. . . . Bostil, thet red hoss is
raisin' hell! He wants to fight. There! he's up in the air. . . . Boys, he's a
devil--a hoss-killer like all them wild stallions. . . . He's plungin' at the
King--strikin'! There! Lucy's got him down. She's handlin' him. . . . Now
they've got the King on the other side. Thet's better. But Lucy's hoss won't
stand. Anyway, it's a runnin' start. . . . Van's got the best position. Foxy
Van! . . . He'll be leadin' before the rest know the race's on.. . . Them
Indian mustangs are behavin' scandalous. Guess the red stallion scared 'em.
Now they're all lined up back of the post. . . . Ah! gun-smoke! They move.
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