il saw far down the valley a moving, dark line of horses.

"THEY'RE OFF! THEY'RE OFF!" called Holley, thrillingly.

Bostil uttered a deep and booming yell, which rose above the shouts of
the men round him and was heard even in the din of Indian cries. Then
as quickly as the yells had risen they ceased.

Holley stood up on the rock with leveled glass.

"Mac's dropped the flag. It's a sure go. Now! ... Van's out there
front--inside. The King's got his stride. Boss, the King's stretchin'
out! ... Look! Look! see thet red hoss leap! ... Bostil, he's runnin'
down the King! I knowed it. He's like lightnin'. He's pushin' the King
over--off the course! See him plunge! Lord! Lucy can't pull him! She
goes up--down--tossed--but she sticks like a burr. Good, Lucy! Hang on!
... My Gawd, Bostil, the King's thrown! He's down! ... He comes up, off
the course. The others flash by.... Van's out of the race! ... An',
Bostil--an', gentlemen, there ain't anythin' more to this race but a
red hoss!"

Bostil's heart gave a great leap and then seemed to stand still. He was
half cold, half hot.

What a horrible, sickening disappointment. Bostil rolled out a cursing
query. Holley's answer was short and sharp. The King was out! Bostil
raved. He could not see. He could not believe. After all the weeks of
preparation, of excitement, of suspense--only this! There was no race.
The King was out! The thing did not seem possible. A thousand thoughts
flitted through Bostil's mind. Rage, impotent rage, possessed him. He
cursed Van, he swore he would kill that red stallion. And some one
shook him hard. Some one's incisive words cut into his thick, throbbing
ears: "Luck of the game! The King ain't beat! He's only out!"

Then the rider's habit of mind asserted itself and Bostil began to
recover. For the King to fall was hard luck. But he had not lost the
race! Anguish and pride battled for mastery over him. Even if the King
were out it was a Bostil who would win the great race.

"He ain't beat!" muttered Bostil. "It ain't fair! He's run off the
track by a wild stallion!"

His dimmed sight grew clear and sharp. And with a gasp he saw the
moving, dark line take shape as horses. A bright horse was in the lead.
Brighter and larger he grew. Swiftly and more swiftly he came on. The
bright color changed to red. Bostil heard Holley calling and Cordts
calling--and other voices, but he did not distinguish what was said.
The line of horses began to bob, to bun