But Master Knickerbocker had moved away, laughing insolently.
The course was measured, the scratch drawn and Nathan Nye stood ready to drop the hat. Several of the men went to the finish-line to witness and testify to the result of the three races.
The course faced the east, so that the eyes of the horses and their riders were turned from the sunset glow which was then illumining the world. The road was smooth, and a recent rain had laid the dust; the conditions were better than usual. The pungent odor of new-sawn lumber filled the air and the chirping of birds from the nearby forest made sweet music.
One of the Ethan Allen horses walked briskly forward under his rider, while the Morgan joined him in the friendly way which was his natural manner towards all animals. They waited pleasantly, yet spiritedly, for the drop of the hat.
When the signal was given they ran neck and neck for a short distance—then with a sudden and unexpected spurt the Morgan dashed in a length ahead.
His friends cheered Morgan lustily; the other faction were too astonished to other than gasp slightly, and were silent. Evans himself was expressionless—if anything, he, as well as Morgan, looked a little bored at the easy victory, and cantered back to the starting point for the next race with a sort of indifference.
The second was twin to the first. Morgan seemed just waking up, as he sprang forward perfunctorily at the finish, winning with ease. He moved as if he knew not fatigue, even after the hard day’s work. It was the Desert training of his ancestors within him, their marvellous staying qualities.
When they returned the second time the Coxcomb was waiting, his restive horse trembling in anticipation of a victory.
One or two false starts, and they were off.
The Morgan was away toward the goal like an arrow from an Indian’s bow—his small extended muzzle and deep wide chest seemed to cut the air. In the short length of the course he thought of Flying Childers winning his historic race against the runner Fox, about seventy-five years before, of which his father told him. Perhaps this memory and the strain of this great ancestor awakened possibilities within him—the road ran past, his small, well shaped black feet spurned the earth, and before he knew it he was at the finish almost a length ahead of the horse who had won so many races on The Plains of Abraham.