The spectators grew excited as the racing horses
swung around the half-mile track and came flying down toward the judges' stand on their first round. Men waved their hats and cheered, the white handkerchiefs of women were fluttering.
"Black Boy! Black Boy! He is the winner for a thousand!" roared a big man in the grand stand.
"Fanny D.! Fanny D.!" shouted another. "She is taking the lead!"
This was true. Pawnee, as Harris had declared, proved unequal to the task of holding the lead. In the second quarter Fanny D. crept alongside and gradually forged ahead, for all that Black Boy's rider used whip and voice.
Poor old Lightfoot was steadily losing ground, and Hartwick ground his teeth as he saw Nemo come into fourth place. Still it did not seem that Merriwell's horse had made a spurt.
And then, as the horses came thundering down the track, a sudden change seemed to come over the black boy on Nemo's back. He leaned far forward, and appeared to be talking into Nemo's ears, which were laid almost straight back. He cut the air with his
whip, but the lash did not fall on the glossy coat of the handsome animal.
"Look!" palpitated Harlow. "See Nemo! The creature has awakened! That horse is all right! Hartwick, I believe Merriwell will secure third money, after all."
"Not on your life!" ground forth Evan, his eyes glaring. "The creature is doing his best now."