“I never seed Dave ride that-a-way afore,” said Mollie.
“Me, neither,” chimed in Buck.
The nobles and ladies were waving handkerchiefs, clapping hands, and shouting. The spectators of better degree were throwing up their hats and from every part of the multitude the same hoarse shout of encouragement rose:
“Go it, Dave! Hooray for Dave!” while the boy on the telegraph-pole was seen to clutch wildly at the crossbar on which he sat—he had come near tumbling from his perch.
The two knights rode slowly back to the head of the lists, where the Discarded was seen to dismount and tighten his girth.
“He's tryin' to git time to rest,” said the Hon. Sam. “Toot, son!”
“Shame!” said the little sister and the Blight both at once so severely that the Hon. Sam quickly raised his hand.
“Hold on,” he said, and with hand still uplifted he waited till Marston was mounted again. “Now!”
The Discarded came on, using his spurs with every jump, the red of his horse's nostrils showing that far away, and he swept on, spearing off the rings with deadly accuracy and holding the three aloft, but having no need to pull in his panting steed, who stopped of his own accord. Up went a roar, but the Hon. Sam, covertly glancing at his watch, still smiled. That watch he pulled out when the Knight of the Cumberland started and he smiled still when he heard the black horse's swift, rhythmic beat and he looked up only when that knight, shouting to his horse, moved his lance up and down before coming to the last ring and, with a dare-devil yell, swept it from the wire.
“Tied—tied!” was the shout; “they've got to try it again! they've got to try it again!”