"Honest?"
"Can't you hear the crowd hissing the rotten start?"
"Well," said Hopwood, "it—it's about time I had a little luck."
"That skate has got something besides luck with him to-day!" exclaimed the Kid. "I wonder now—did he try a powder after all? But no, he was quiet enough on the way to the post."
Seeing nothing ahead of him but mud and water, Jockey Gillis steered Last Chance toward the inner rail.
"Don't you quit on me, you crab!" he muttered. "Don't you quit! Keep goin' if you don't want me to put the bee on you again! Hi-ya!"
Montezuma, Bluestone, and Stuffy Eaton were the other survivors—bad horses all. Their riders, realizing that something had happened to the real contenders, drove them hard and on the upper turn Jockey Gillis, peering over his shoulder, saw that he was about to have competition. He began to boot Last Chance in the ribs, but the aged chestnut refused to respond to such ordinary treatment.
"All right!" said Jockey Gillis, savagely. "If you won't run for the spurs, you'll run for this!" And he drove his clenched fist against the horse's shoulder. Last Chance grunted and did his best to leap out from under his tormentor. Failing in this he spurted crazily and the gap widened.
"There it goes again!" muttered the Kid, under his breath. "He's pretty raw with it. Now if the judges notice the way that horse is running they may frisk Calamity for an electric battery and if they find one on him—good night!"