There followed the breathless lunge forward, the sinking of the body as
the stride lengthened, the whir of wind against his face; Connor sat the
saddle erect, smiling, and waited for Joseph to come back to him.

But Joseph did not come, and as the mare reached the river and her hoofs
rang on the bridge Connor saw with unspeakable wonder that he had
actually lost ground. Once more he called on Abra, and as they struck
the bridge in turn the young stallion was fully extended, while Connor
swung forward in the saddle to throw more weight on the withers and take
the strain from the long back muscles. Leaning close to the neck of
Abra, with the mane whipping his face, he squinted down the road at
Joseph, and growled with savage satisfaction as he saw the mare drift
back to him. If he could reach her with a sprint she was beaten, for she
bore the extra burden. Once more he called on Abra, and heard a slight
grunt as the stallion gave the last burst of his strength; the hoofs of
the two roared on the hard road, and Joseph came back hand over hand.
Connor, laughing exultantly, squinted into the wind.

"Good boy!" he muttered. "Good old Abra! If he had Salvator under him
we'd get him at this rate. We're on his hip--Now!"

He was indeed in touch with the flying mare, and, looking through the
dimness, he marveled at her long, free swing, the level drive of the
croup, and--he saw with astonishment--her pricking ears! Not as if she
were racing, but merely galloping. He flattened himself along the neck
of Abra and called on him again, slapped his shoulder with the flat of
his hand, flicked him along the flank with the butt of the rope; but the
mare held him invincibly; he could not gain the breadth of a hair, and
by the pounding of Abra's forefeet he knew that the stallion was running
himself out. At that moment, to crown his bewilderment, Joseph turned,
laughing again in that soundless way. Only for a moment; then he turned,
and, leaning over the withers of his mount, the mare lengthened, it
seemed to Connor, and moved away.

Her hips went past him, then her tail, flying out straight behind, a
streak of silver; and last of all, there was the hiss of derision from
Joseph whistling back to him.

Connor threw himself back into the saddle and brought the stallion down
to a moderate pace. One hand was clutched at his throat, for it seemed
to him that his heart was beating there. Before him raced a vision of
Ben Connor, king of th