m all waiting at the post, and the starter called several times; but
it was all to no purpose, Boatman was determined to have his own way,
and it was fully a quarter of an hour before, very sulkily--for a horse
can be sulky--he condescended to walk slowly up to the others. It seemed
to give me confidence, that brief respite. Paul was so much master of
the situation, in spite of the contrariness of the beast he rode, that I
was at once convinced of the foolishness of my fears, and for a moment I
felt quite content and free from care as the horses got in line.

It was the race of the day, and there was a hush for an instant, then
down went the starter s flag, there was a roar, and a shout from the
crowd, "They 're off," and I saw the line of horses stretch themselves
out across the plain. The big grey was on the inside striding along
about three quarters of a length clear of the others, and just behind
came a front rank--so to speak--of half-a-dozen horses, and among them
gleamed the dazzling black and yellow stripes of our chief opponent,
Vixen. They raced for that first fence at a tremendous pace, and I would
have shut my eyes had I not had so much at stake, for the fences were
stiff as they are now, and the horses were only grass-fed. But I looked
on with a sickening fear at my heart and I saw that Boatman had not
forgotten his old trick--right across the line of horses he swerved, and
for a moment they were all in confusion, for he collided with two just
as they were taking off, and there was a cry of, "He's down, he 's
down." "No, no," cried a man alongside me, who was half wild with
excitement already, "well picked up, sir; that's the bully boy. Stick to
it, old pard, stick to it," and I saw with a beating heart that almost
suffocated me, Boatman clear of the ruck, safe on the other side of the
fence, and as in a dream I heard the people shouting, "Billy Craig's
pony's down, and the Coyote," and I saw two horses wildly careering
across the plain,--Billy Craig--I knew him by his green and yellow
shirt, made out of his wife's old curtains--pursuing one, while the
Coyote's rider had only managed to struggle to his knees, and was slowly
rocking himself backwards and forwards with his head in his hands. How
could I care for these things; love is so selfish! Only a little while
now and the race would be over, and I had no power to think of another's
possible pain. All I thought was that the first fence was safely over,
and