t
have been easy, since there were no lines or posts except the turning
point, but it could have been prevented by deft man[oe]uvring. However,
the Indian was now abreast on the inside and as the Englishman watched
him he concluded that this child of nature was not so simple as he
looked. He comforted himself with the thought that the other would need
all he could get out of jockeying.

CHAPTER XXVIII

The Finish

The first mile was covered in good, but not remarkable time. Then they
came to the turning point. There was just the chance of changing places
here, for the inner horse had the disadvantage of the sharper turn, but
the Indian boy made sure by dropping back a half length and the turn was
made without a reverse. After them now with shouts of joy went all the
mounted men who had been waiting and rode in a thundering charge,
yelling and cheering. The white jockey knew now that he was not dealing
with a fool. The red boy, though not so well mounted, was just as good a
rider as himself, and twenty pounds lighter, besides being without
leathers, which raised the handicap to fully twenty-five pounds. In that
first half mile on the home stretch the buckskin still was head and neck
behind. Then the riders put forth all their skill and each did his best
to call forth every ounce of strength and every spurt of speed in his
mount.

The Indian boy let off his native yell and cried: "Ho,
Huya--Huya--Huya!" and the keen quirt flashed and the buckskin flew.

"Ho, Rover! good boy, git, git!" and the white man smote the shining
flank; and both the noble brutes responded as they had not done before.
The sense of play was gone. It was now the real and desperate race. The
gazing thousands ranged about knew that, and the mingled roar of all
their voices rose to a mighty booming sound.

"Ho, Rover! Run, boy, run!"

"Huya, Shunguna, Ho! Ho! Yeh! Yeh! Yeh!" and the redskin rider smote
hard those heaving flanks.

Flash, flash, those shadowy hoofs; thud, thud, upon the plain; the
buckskin's neck forged slowly on, now lapped the red-gold shoulder of
his foe. The redskin shrieked, the riding mob behind gave voice and rode
like madmen. The racers plunged and plunged, the riders lay down almost
to their necks, plying their quirts and shouting words of urge.

The buckskin still won inches on the race, but the Rover led. The last,
the final furlong was at hand. The riders yelled, the rabble yelled,
guns were fired in mad ex