vel. The surface is perfect; but
'twas a blinding white thread. As I toiled along it, that broiling June
day, I could hear the voice of my backer, who followed on horseback,
exhorting me in loud tones, 'Don't scorch, miss; don't scorch; never
mind ef you lose sight of 'em. Keep your wind; that's the point. The
wind, the wind's everything. Let 'em beat you on the level; you'll catch
'em up fast enough when you get on the Taunus!'

But in spite of his encouragement, I almost lost heart as I saw one
after another of my opponents' backs disappear in the distance, till at
last I was left toiling along the bare white road alone, in a
shower-bath of sunlight, with just a dense cloud of dust rising gray far
ahead of me. My head swam. It repented me of my boldness.

Then the riders on horseback began to grumble; for by police regulation
they were not allowed to pass the hindmost of the cyclists; and they
were kept back by my presence from following up their special champions.
'Give it up, Fraeulein, give it up!' they cried. 'You're beaten. Let us
pass and get forward.' But at the self-same moment, I heard the shrill
voice of my American friend whooping aloud across the din, 'Don't you do
nothing of the sort, miss! You stick to it, and keep your wind! It's the
wind that wins! Them Germans won't be worth a cent on the high slopes,
anyway!'

Encouraged by his voice, I worked steadily on, neither scorching nor
relaxing, but maintaining an even pace at my natural pitch under the
broiling sunshine. Heat rose in waves on my face from the road below; in
the thin white dust, the accusing tracks of six wheels confronted me.
Still I kept on following them, till I reached the town of Hoechst--nine
miles from Frankfort. Soldiers along the route were timing us at
intervals with chronometers, and noting our numbers. As I rattled over
the paved High Street, I called aloud to one of them. 'How far ahead the
last man?'

He shouted back, good-humouredly: 'Four minutes, Fraeulein.'

Again I lost heart. Then I mounted a slight slope, and felt how easily
the Manitou moved up the gradient. From its summit I could note a long
gray cloud of dust rolling steadily onward down the hill towards
Hattersheim.

I coasted down, with my feet up, and a slight breeze just cooling me.
Mr. Hitchcock, behind, called out, full-throated, from his seat, 'No
hurry! No flurry! Take your time! Take--your--time, miss!'

Over the bridge at Hattersheim you turn to the