Silvertail came up, a small spot of blood showing on his side where the cruel spur had wounded him.
Master Knickerbocker drew from his pocket a packet of papers, taking his defeat outwardly in better part than might have been expected.
“You have won, ma’am,” he said in a low, hoarse voice, for he had much to do to control himself. “You have won, and that right fairly. I could have wished it otherwise, nor do I yet see how ’twas done! Your horse was better than mine, I suppose; and now I shall bid you good-bye, forever.”
Mistress Lloyd took the packet in her trembling fingers; with her face still screened behind the Morgan, she said gently,
“Nay, but I must thank you for these——”
But she was interrupted, brusquely:
“There is naught to thank me for,” he said, with truth. “Thank that Canadian scrub of yours. Since the race is over methinks I have tried conclusions with him before, many years back when we were both younger; I shall look to it that I am not deceived into competing with him again! That horse ought to be on The Plains of Abraham; he is wasted here!”
Mistress Lloyd extended her hand across the Morgan’s neck, and Master Knickerbocker raised it to his lips with his usual grace; then he swung himself into his saddle and galloped out of sight.
FOOTNOTES:
[10] Morgan Horses, Linsley, page 134.