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CHAPTER XII

A FINE FINISH

The big field got away in an almost unbroken line, a splendid start; a
loud shout proclaimed the race had commenced. For a few minutes they
disappeared, then as they came up the rise the caps appeared over the
brow of the hill, and in a couple of seconds the thirty horses were in
full view, stretched across the wide course, advancing like a cavalry
charge.

A wonderful race the Royal Hunt Cup, a beautiful sight. It has been
described scores of times and no description exaggerates its charm.
The course is grand, the surroundings picturesque; historical
associations cling to the famous heath, where kings and princes, lords
and commoners, have assembled year after year, and royal processions
have come up the course amid the enthusiastic plaudits of vast crowds.
Truly the sport of racing is the sport of kings, and no less of a huge
majority of the people.

Bernard Hallam and Valentine Braund acknowledged its charm. There was
nothing quite like it anywhere, one of the racing sights of the world,
different from Epsom on Derby Day, Doncaster on Leger Day, or glorious
Goodwood, unique in its way; no such gathering can be seen in any other
country.

The attention of thousands of people was riveted on the horses; all
other thoughts were excluded. For a few brief moments everything was
forgotten but the business in hand, the probable result, which horse
would be added to the long roll of Hunt Cup winners.

The thirty horses were almost level as they came in sight, one or two
stragglers, but it was an even race so far. As they began the ascent,
the stiff pull to the winning-post, the field lengthened out, horse
after horse fell back, and a dozen only possessed chances. The rise
finds out the weak spots, and the lack of a final gallop makes a lot of
difference. It takes a good horse to win a Hunt Cup; no matter if he
does little after, he must be brilliant on the day.

Alan stood with Captain Morby and Captain Newport high on the
grand-stand. They knew where to command the best view of the race; it
was a climb, a scramble to get there, but worth it.

"Bandmaster's in the center," said Harry. "He's going strong, but
he'll have to make his run soon, there's a good many lengths between
him and Spur."

The favorite was at the head of the field, traveling in great style.
There was just a suspicion he would not quite stay the course, but he
seemed to be giving it the lie. Close