They were coming closer. How swiftly! What a splendid race! But it was too
swift--it would not last. The Indians began to yell, drowning the hoarse
shouts of the riders. Out of the tail of his eye Bostil saw Cordts and Sears
and Hutchinson. They were acting like crazy men. Strange that horse-thieves
should care! The million thrills within Bostil coalesced into one great
shudder of rapture. He grew wet with sweat. His stentorian voice took up the
call for Lucy to win.
"Three-quarters!" bowled Holley into Bostil's ear. "An' Lucy's give thet wild
hoss free rein! Look, Bostil! You never in your life seen a hoss ran like
thet!"
Bostil never had. His heart swelled. Something shook him. Was that his
girl--that tight little gray burr half hidden in the huge stallion's flaming
mane? The distance had been close between Lucy and the bunched riders.
But it lengthened. How it widened! That flame of a horse was running away from
the others. And now they were close--coming into the home stretch. A deafening
roar from the onlookers engulfed all other sounds.
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