n gives him his head. Racing like El Rio Rey or Proctor
Knott, he draws away from Azra, whom Clayton holds well in hand, and
length by length increases his lead until five lengths of daylight lie
between the green and light-blue jackets, Phil Dwyer, held in reserve by
Overton, a length and a half in the rear. Nearing the first quarter the
wrap on Azra is slackened a little and, though all go wide at the turn to
seek the dryest going, Clayton takes ground by passing nearest the rail.
Down the stretch to the stand they come, and it begins to be apparent that
a stubborn contest is in progress. Huron's head is swinging, he is running
easily, and as he swings along with his splendid action two lengths in the
lead, a cheer breaks out. In every way he looks the winner, but at his
heels comes one that will follow him with dogged courage till the last
gasp. Under Clayton's good guidance, Azra is holding his own, though
seemingly between two fires, for if Huron does not run away from him,
there behind him is Phil Dwyer running under a pull and ready to take up
the fight.

As the wire is passed Huron again increases his lead, and rounding the
turn is three lengths to the good, while Phil Dwyer moves up almost on
even terms with Azra. So the quarter-pole is passed and the critical
moment of the race arrives. It is time for Britton to "feel" Azra. The
colored rider looks back, and then for the first time urges Huron a
little. Will Azra hold his own or will he cry for quarter? Has he been
able to stand the pace? If so, Phil Dwyer must come to the front and
finish the work. Will he quit? How quickly that question is answered. The
moment Britton makes that move on the back-stretch Clayton loosens his
wrap and Azra responds. Will he hold his own? He does not come with a
sudden burst of speed, but foot by foot he nears the leader, his steady
rating telling at last. Phil Dwyer's time has come. He makes no response
to Overton's call, and is then and there a beaten horse. The race is
between Huron and Azra. It is no longer a question as to the latter's
lasting. The query is, "Will Huron quit?"

The last quarter is neared, Huron leads, but only by a little, that is
steadily growing less. Azra is at his saddle, at his withers, at his head,
gaining at every stride, slowly, but surely forging to the front. They are
in the stretch and on even terms. Grandsons, both, of the great
Leamington, the blood of the great race horse that flows in their v