"Nice start!" said the presiding judge, drawing a long breath.
Across the track, the official starter mopped his brow.
"Not so worse," said he. "Go on, you little devils! It's up to you!"
Away went the front runners, their riders checking them and rating their speed with an eye to the long journey. Simple Simon, Pepper and Salt, and Ted Mitchell engaged in a brisk struggle for the pace-making position and the latter secured it. Miss Amber and Regulator were in fifth and sixth places respectively, and at the tail end of the procession was Black Bill, taking his time, barely keeping up with the others. A distance race was no new thing to Black Bill. He had seen front runners before and knew that they had a habit of fading in the final quarter. Beside him was Elisha, matching him, stride for stride.
Down the stretch they came, Ted Mitchell gradually increasing the pace. Jockey Jones heard the crowd cheering as he passed the grand stand and his lip curled.
"We eatin' it now, 'Lisha hawss," said he, "but nex' time we come down yere they'll be eatin' ow' dust an' don't make no mistake! Take yo' time, baby. It's a long way yit, a lo-ong way!"
Entering the back stretch there was a sudden shifting of the coloured jackets. The outsiders, nervous and overeager, were making their bids for the purse, and making them too soon. The flurry toward the front brought about a momentary spurt in the pace followed immediately by the steady, machine-like advance of Regulator, but as the chestnut horse moved up the brown mare went with him, on even terms.
"There goes Regulator! There he goes!"
"Yes, but he can't shake Miss Amber! She's right there with him! Oh, you Amber!"