The road was rather uneven, and he could not help but think what the consequences might be if the cutter should strike a deep hollow or a big stone.
"Don't let Rusher run away," he said to his friend. "Be careful."
Bob was by this time having his hands so full that he could not answer.
"Steady, Rusher, steady!" he called out to the steed. "Steady, old boy!"
But the old race horse was now warmed up to his work and paid no attention to what was said. On and on he sped, until the young man in the other cutter was gradually outdistanced.
"Told you I could beat you!" flung back Bob.
"The race is yours," answered the young man, in much disappointment, and then he dropped further back than ever.
"Better slacken up, Bob," said Bert. "There is no use in driving so hard now."
"I—I can't slacken up," answered Bob. "Steady, Rusher," he called out. "Whoa, old fellow, whoa!"
But the old race horse did not intend to whoa, and on he flew as fast as his legs would carry him, up the first hill and then onward toward the turn before mentioned.