ly close to earth, its rider lying low upon the
straining neck--that was Flopper and Bert.

Close beside, a sheeny glimmer of red, a tossing fringe of white, a
leaning, wiry, exultant form above--that was Glory and Weary.

There were groans as well as shouting when the whirlwind had swept past
and on down the hill toward town, and the reason thereof was plain.
Glory had won by a good length of him.

Bert Rogers said something savage and set his weight upon the bit till
Flopper, snorting and disgusted--for a horse knows when he is
beaten--took shorter leaps, stiffened his front legs and stopped,
digging furrows with his feet.

Glory sailed on down the trail, scattering Mrs. Jenson's chickens and
jumping clean over a lumbering, protesting sow. "Come on--he's going
to set up the drinks!" yelled someone, and the crowd leaped from the
fence and followed.

But Glory did not stop. He whipped around the saloon, whirled past the
blacksmith shop and was headed for the mouth of the lane before anyone
understood. Then Chip, suddenly grasping the situation, dug deep with
his spurs and yelled.

"He's broken the bit--it's a runaway!"

Thus began the second race, a free-for-all dash up the lane. At the
very start they knew it was hopeless to attempt overtaking that red
streak, but they galloped a mile for good manners' sake; Cal then
pulled up.

"No use," he said. "Glory's headed for home and we ain't got the
papers to stop him. He can't hurt Weary--and the dance opens up at
six, and I've got a girl in town."

"Same here," grinned Bert. "It's after four, now."

Chip, who at that time hadn't a girl--and didn't want one--let Silver
out for another long gallop, seeing it was Weary. Then he, too, gave
up the chase and turned back.

Glory settled to a long lope and kept steadily on, gleefully rattling
the broken bit which dangled beneath his jaws. Weary, helpless and
amused and triumphant because the race was his, sat unconcernedly in
the saddle and laid imaginary bets with himself on the outcome.
Without doubt, Glory was headed for home. Weary figured that, barring
accidents, he could catch up Blazes, in the little pasture, and ride
back to Dry Lake by the time the dance was in full swing--for the
dancing before dark would be desultory and without much spirit.

But the gate into the big field was closed and tied securely with a
rope. Glory comprehended the fact with one roll of his knowing eyes,
turned away to th