He was up to the bay's flank. Whip and spur were going as the leader saw his danger.
Old Robin was like a madman.
“Come on! Come on!” he shouted. “Give him de whip—cut him in two—lift him! Look at him—my hoss! Come on, son! Oh, ef my ol' master was jest heah!”
A great roar ran along the fences and over the paddock and stands as the two horses shot in together.
“Oh, he has won, he has won!” cried the girl in the big hat, springing up on a chair in ecstasy.
“No; it 's the blue by a neck,” said her father. “I congratulate you, Snowden. But that 's a great horse. It 's well that it was not a furlong farther.”
“I think so,” said the owner of the winner, hurrying away.
“They have cheated him. I am sure he won,” asserted the young lady.
They laughed at her enthusiasm.
“Newby,” said one of the gentlemen, “you 'd better get Miss Catherine to pick your horses for you.” Newby winced.