re the party started for the house of
the bride. This performance was called "the race for the bottle."

A number of young men, selected by the groom, were asked to take
part in this race, which was to be run over as rough and dangerous a
track as could be found. The worse the road, the more ditches, bogs,
trees, stumps, brush, in fact, the more obstacles of every kind, the
better, as all these afforded opportunity for daring and expert
horsemanship. The English fox race, now famous on three continents,
while it involves risk and is sometimes dangerous, cannot, in the
sense of hazard to life and limb, be compared to this race for the
bottle.

On this day the run was not less exciting than usual. The horses
were placed as nearly abreast as possible and the starter gave an
Indian yell. Then followed the cracking of whips, the furious
pounding of heavy hoofs, the commands of the contestants, and the
yells of the onlookers. Away they went at a mad pace down the road.
The course extended a mile straight away down the creek bottom. The
first hundred yards the horses were bunched. At the ditch beyond the
creek bridge a beautiful, clean limbed animal darted from among the
furiously galloping horses and sailed over the deep furrow like a
bird. All recognized the rider as Alfred Clarke on his black
thoroughbred. Close behind was George Martin mounted on a large roan
of powerful frame and long stride. Through the willows they dashed,
over logs and brush heaps, up the little ridges of rising ground,
and down the shallow gullies, unheeding the stinging branches and
the splashing water. Half the distance covered and Alfred turned, to
find the roan close behind. On a level road he would have laughed at
the attempt of that horse to keep up with his racer, but he was
beginning to fear that the strong limbed stallion deserved his
reputation. Directly before them rose a pile of logs and matted
brush, placed there by the daredevil settlers who had mapped out the
route. It was too high for any horse to be put at. With pale cheek
and clinched teeth Alfred touched the spurs to Roger and then threw
himself forward. The gallant beast responded nobly. Up, up, up he
rose, clearing all but the topmost branches. Alfred turned again and
saw the giant roan make the leap without touching a twig. The next
instant Roger went splash into a swamp. He sank to his knees in the
soft black soil. He could move but one foot at a time, and Alfred
saw at a gla