In front strode White Moth; one by one the others, and last, seventh, Allis's fatal number, lagged Lauzanne, lazily loafing along as though he regretted leaving the stall.
As the horses passed to the course, Crane, who had followed The Dutchman to the gate, raised his eyes from scanning Lauzanne to the rider on his back. It was just a look of languid interest in the apprentice boy Dixon had put up instead of such a good jockey as Redpath. The face rivetted his attention; something in the line of the cheek recalled a face he had constantly in view.
“For an instant I thought that was Alan Porter on Lauzanne,” he said to Langdon, who was at his elbow. “A strange fancy—I'm going up to the stand to watch the race:”
“It's all roight but the win now,” said Mike to Dixon. “I'm goin' in be the Judges' box to watch the finish. You'll be helpin' the b'y pass the scales, Andy.”
As Allis passed the Judges' Stand in the parade she cast a quick, furtive look toward the people on the lawn. She seemed pilloried on an eminence, lifted up in pitiless prominence; would anyone detect her at the last moment? Hanging over the rail in the very front she saw a pale face that struck a chill of fear to her heart—it was Mortimer's. She had not even thought of his being there. She had eluded the close scrutiny of all the others who were likely to recognize her, but there, within ten yards were eyes almost certain to penetrate her disguise. The girl turned her face away; she knew Mortimer well enough to think that if he did recognize her he would make no sign.
“That's our horse,” declared Old Bill, as Lauzanne passed. “He's all right, bet yer life; he's fit ter go all day. De geezer as trains him ain't no mug. Let's go up in de stand, where we can see de whole show; den we'll come down an' cash in. Say, pard, if dis goes through I'll blow you off to a bottle of de best; wine ain't none too good fer dis coop.”
Altogether it was as though Destiny had found pleasant domicile in the ancient clothing of Old Bill, and was using their unique wearer as a protective agent to ward off evil from both Mortimer and the girl. As they jogged toward the starting post Allis allowed Lauzanne to lag; she wished to avoid Redpath. But the Indian was a horse of uncertain temperament, and presently, with a foolish side rush, he cannoned fair into Lauzanne. In the melee Redpath looked full into Allis's eyes at short range. His face went white in an instant.
“You!” he cried, pulling hard at his horse's mouth; “it's you, Miss—” He stopped suddenly. “God! I'm glad I know this,” he jerked between set teeth, as he fought the Indian, who was nearly pulling him out of the saddle.
“It's because he'll gallop for you, isn't it? You didn't think I was a wrong one—it wasn't because you couldn't trust me you took the mount away, was it?”
The Indian, quieted by the sleepy Chestnut, was going steadier. “No; it's because Lauzanne won't give his running for anyone but me,” the girl answered.