what sharply round the Old Fort. The only condition attaching to the
race was that the teams should start from the scratch, make the turn of
the Fort, and finish at the scratch. There were no vexing regulations as
to fouls. The man making the foul would find it necessary to reckon
with the crowd, which was considered sufficient guarantee for a fair and
square race. Owing to the hazards of the course, the result would depend
upon the skill of the drivers quite as much as upon the speed of the
teams. The points of hazard were at the turn round the Old Fort, and at
a little ravine which led down to the river, over which the road passed
by means of a long log bridge or causeway.

From a point upon the high bank of the river the whole course lay in
open view. It was a scene full of life and vividly picturesque. There
were miners in dark clothes and peak caps; citizens in ordinary garb;
ranchmen in wide cowboy hats and buckskin shirts and leggings, some
with cartridge-belts and pistols; a few half-breeds and Indians in
half-native, half-civilised dress; and scattering through the crowd the
lumbermen with gay scarlet and blue blanket coats, and some with knitted
tuques of the same colours. A very good-natured but extremely uncertain
crowd it was. At the head of each horse stood a man, but at the pintos'
heads Baptiste stood alone, trying to hold down the off leader, thrown
into a frenzy of fear by the yelling of the crowd.

Gradually all became quiet, till, in the midst of absolute stillness,
came the words, 'Are you ready?', then the pistol-shot and the great
race had begun. Above the roar of the crowd came the shrill cry of
Baptiste, as he struck his broncho with the palm of his hand, and swung
himself into the sleigh beside Sandy, as it shot past.

Like a flash the bronchos sprang to the front, two lengths before the
other teams; but, terrified by the yelling of the crowd, instead of
bending to the left bank up which the road wound, they wheeled to the
right and were almost across the river before Sandy could swing them
back into the course.

Baptiste's cries, a curious mixture of French and English, continued to
strike through all other sounds till they gained the top of the slope
to find the others almost a hundred yards in front, the citizens' team
leading, with the miners' following close. The moment the pintos caught
sight of the teams before them they set off at a terrific pace and
steadily devoured the intervening