he place of drunken Ike. The unknown rider
was wrapped closely in an ulster, from beneath which riding boots,
unusually small, peeped, now and then, as the feet within them moved
somewhat nervously about.

"All right, are you?" he inquired.

"I ain't afeared," the jockey answered, "but I'm powerful nervous. Never
had on clo'es like these before, an'--don't you look at me!"

Strange talk, this was, for the jockey who was soon to ride Queen Bess
for the capture of the Ashland Oaks and the salvation of the fortune of
the house of Layson!

"Don't look at you!" said the Colonel, in expostulation, and, in the
next sentence, revealed a secret which he was guarding carefully from
everyone. "See here, little girl, you've got to face thousands and not
wince, and you can't ride in that overcoat, either."

But the jockey wrapped the coat still tighter. "Oh, sho! That can't make
no differ--just a little coat!"

"I tell you it's impossible. It would give the game away at once. Come,
take it off. Practice up on me."

The jockey shivered nervously. "Reckon I will hev to. Say, turn your
back till I am ready."

The Colonel turned his back, somewhat impatiently. The time was getting
short. "All right, but hurry up."

The jockey pulled the long coat partly off, then, in a panic, shrugged
it on again. "Oh, now, you're lookin'!"

"Not a wink," declared the Colonel.

"Wal, here goes!" This time the coat came wholly off and the jockey who
had been discovered to take the place of drunken Ike stood quite
revealed. The voice which warned the Colonel of this was a faint and
faltering one. "Now," it said timidly.

The Colonel turned. "Hurrah!"

The jockey held the coat up in a panic.

"See here, now--none o' that!" the Colonel warned. "Give it to me." He
reached his hand out for the coat, and, reluctantly, the jockey let him
take it.

There stood the trimmest and most graceful figure ever garbed in racing
blouse, knickers, boots and cap, with flushed face, dilating, frightened
eyes and hands not a little tremulous. The girl who had told Barbara
Holton that she would not hesitate to make a sacrifice to save the man
she loved was making one--a very great one--the sacrifice of what, her
whole life long, she had considered fitting woman's modesty. Queen Bess
must win and there was no one else to ride her. The mountain-girl shrank
from the thought of going, thus, before a multitude, as shyly as would
the most highly educated and most