And Frank? He was preparing for one mighty spurt at the last of the race, feeling that he would surprise Swiftwind then.
The spectators cheered wildly, and some enthusiastic cowboys fired shots into the air, yelling for the white boy to run faster and not let a “copper-skin” beat him.
Far ahead at the end of the course Frank saw Inza Burrage watching their approach. Near her stood an Indian who had just dismounted from the back of a magnificent horse, which he was holding.
Inza waved her handkerchief.
Was it a signal to Frank? or was it meant for John Swiftwing?
“In either case,” thought the white boy, “it is enough. I will win!”
He set his teeth and gave a great spurt that must have carried him into the lead; but, at that moment something happened.
The tall Indian who had been racing at Frank’s side thrust out a foot and neatly tripped Merriwell up. This happened at the very moment when the white boy started to spurt, and Frank was flung into the air and hurled forward upon his head. His hands were thrust out to break his fall, and he saved himself in a measure, but he was stunned and lay motionless for some seconds.
With a gasp he sat up.
“Beaten!” he hoarsely grated—“beaten by a foul trick! I did not think John Swiftwing would have anything to do with a plot of this sort!”