“I’m glad. Good-bye, Jodie.” The girl was away.
That night Florence sat a long time by the fire. She was thinking hard. What Jodie had told her had not entirely reassured her. One of his dogs did not appear to be right for the race. What if another and perhaps another began to wear down under the strain.
“We’d lose,” she whispered.
“But suppose I enter the race with the grays?” A thrill ran up her spine. How she’d love it. Always her sturdy body had cried out for action. She had swum a swift flowing mile-wide river on a dare. She had climbed mountains alone. She had done all manner of wild things on trapeze and ropes, just for the thrill of it. And now this race! All else seemed to pale into insignificance.
“And yet,” she thought, “would it be fair to Jodie?”
One more day passed, then another. It was the forenoon of the day before the coming of the great event. Only a few hours were left for entering the race. Yesterday she had driven her gray streaks over fifty miles of tough trails. How magnificently they had performed! With such a team, who could stay out? And yet—
Fifteen minutes later her mind was made up. Jodie passed her. He was off for a short spin. Short as had been her experience at driving and judging dogs, she knew at a glance that all was not well. Four of his dogs were now imitating the actions of a very weary rag doll. Their heads hung low. Their tails drooped. Each forward sprint called for a great effort.
“That half-breed must have slept on his watch,” her eyes narrowed.
When Jodie came trotting back two hours later, she met him in the street.
“Whoa! Whoa, there!” he shouted at his dogs. “What’s on your mind?” The smile that he gave the girl was an uncertain one.