s Jolie, skimming like an eager swallow, fled past undaunted by that
hopeless gap.

"Whar my baby at?" asked Uncle Jake. He had heard the groan and the
silence, and fear was in his voice.

"Oh--Uncle Jake--" began Mrs. Dillon. "They--" her voice broke.

"Dey ain' left her at de post? Doan' tell me dat, Miss Sally!"

Mrs. Dillon nodded as though to eyes that saw. Uncle Jake seemed to
feel it.

"How fah back? How fah back?" he demanded.

"She ain't got a chance, Uncle Jake!" said Blister, and dropped his
head on his arm lying along the railing.

"How fah back?" insisted the old negro.

Blister raised his head and gazed.

"Twenty len'ths," he said, and dropped it again.

"Doan' you fret, Miss Sally," Uncle Jake encouraged. "She'll beat 'em
yet!"

"Not this time, old man," said Judge Dillon very gently. He was
tearing his program carefully into little pieces, with big shaking
hands. . . .

The horses were around the first turn, and the battle up the back
stretch had begun. The red bay was still leading.

"Mandarin in front!" said some one behind us. "Rob Roy second and
running easy--the rest nowhere!"

"Jes' you wait!" called Uncle Jake.

"You ole fool nigger!" came Blister's muffled voice.

Even at that distance I could have told which one was last. The same
effortless floating stride I had noticed long ago was hers as Tres
Jolie, foot by foot, ate up the gap. At the far turn she caught the
stragglers and one by one she cut them down.

"Oh, gallant spirit!" I thought. "If they had given you but half a
chance!"

I lost her among a melee of horses, on the turn, as the leader swung
into the stretch. It was the same red bay, but now the boy on the
black horse moved his hands forward a little and his mount came easily
to the leader's side. There was a short struggle between them and the
bay fell back.

"Mandarin's done!" cried the voice behind us. "Rob Roy on the bit!"

"I might have known it!" I thought bitterly. "He looked it all along."

Then a gentle buzzing sprang up like a breeze. It was a whisper that
grew to a muttering, and then became a rumble and at last one delirious
roar. The giant had recovered, and his mighty cry brought me to my
feet, my heart in my throat--for "_Tres Jolie_" he roared . . . and
coming! . . . coming!! . . . coming!!! . . . I saw the blue and gold!

A maniac rose among us and flung his fists above his head. He called
upon his gods--and then that mag