And he heard Travis whirl away with a bitter curse that floated back.

Then the old man shot out in the long, stealing, time-eating stride the old pacer had, and coming up just behind Lizzette's sulky he hung there in a death struggle.

One quarter, half, three-quarters, and still they swung around--locked--Travis bitter with hot oaths and the old man pale with prayer. He could see Travis's eyes flashing lightning hatred across the narrow s.p.a.ce between them--hatred, curses, but the old man prayed on.

"The flag--now--ole hoss--for Jesus' sake!--"

He reached out in the old way, lifted his horse by sheer great force and fairly flung him ahead!--

"Flu-r-r-r!" it was Lizzette's breath as he went by her. He shot his eyes quickly sideways as she flailed the air with her forefeet within a foot of his head. Her eyes glowed, sunken,--beat--in their sockets; with mouth wide open, collapsed, frantic, in heart-broken dismay, she wabbled, staggered and quit!

"Oh, G.o.d bless you, Ben Butler!--"

But that instant in the air with her mouth wide open within a foot of the old man's head her lower teeth exposed, the old driver saw she was only four years old. Why had he noticed it? What mental telepathy in great crises cause us to see the trifles on which often the destiny of our life hangs?

Ben Butler, stubborn, flying, was shaking his game old head in a bull-dog way as he went under the wire. It maddened him to be pulled up.

"So, softly, softly old fellow! We've got 'em licked, you've got religin' in yo' heels, too. Ain't been goin' to church for ten years for nothin'!"

The old man wanted to shout, and yet he was actually shedding tears, talking hysterically and trembling all over. He heard in a dazed way the yells and thunder from the grand-stand. But he was faint and dizzy, and worst of all, as he laughed to himself and said: "Kinder sissy an' soft in spots."

Jack and Bud had Ben Butler and were gone. No wonder the grand-stand pulsed with human emotion. Never before had anything been done like this. The old, blind pacer,--the quaint old preacher--the thing they were going to shut out,--the pathos, the splendor of it all,--shook them as humanity will ever be shaken when the rejected stone comes up in the beauty of purest marble. Here it was:

_4th Heat:_ _Ben Butler, 1st_; _Lizzette, 2nd._ _Time_, 2:19-1/2.

What a record it was for the old pacer! Starting barely able to save his distance, he had grown in speed and strength and now had the mare at his mercy--the two more heats he had yet to win would be a walk around for him.

Oh, it was glorious--glorious!

"Oh, by gad, sah," shouted Col. Troup, pompously. "I guess I've hedged all right. Travis will pay my thousand. He'll know how to shet out gentlemen the nex' time. Oh, by gad, sah!"

Flecker and the Tennesseans took drinks and shouted themselves hoa.r.s.e.

Then the old preacher did something, but why he never could explain.

It seemed intuition when he thought of it afterwards. Calling Col.

Troup to him he said: "I'm kinder silly an' groggy, Col'nel, but I wish you'd go an' look in her mouth an' see how old Lizzette is."

The Colonel looked at him, puzzled.

"Why?"

"Oh, I dunno, Col'nel--but when a thing comes on me that away, maybe it's because I'm so nervous an' upsot, but somehow I seem to have a second sight when I git in this fix. I wanted you to tell me."

"What's it got to do with the race, sah! There is no bar to age. Have you any susp--"

"Oh, no--no--Col'nel, it's jes' a warnin', an intuition. I've had 'em often, it's always from G.o.d. I b'leeve it's Him tellin' me to watch, watch an' pray. I had it when Ben Butler come, thar, come in answer to prayer--"

Colonel Troup smiled and walked off. In a short while he sauntered carelessly back:

"Fo' sah, she was fo' years old this last spring."

"Thank ye, Col'nel!"

The Colonel smiled and whispered: "Oh, how cooked she is! Dead on her feet, dead. Don't drive yo' ole pacer hard--jes' walk around him, sah. Do as you please, you've earned the privilege. It's yo' walk over an' yo' money."

The fifth heat was almost a repet.i.tion of the fourth, the old pacer beating the tired mare cruelly, pacing her to a standstill. It was all over with Lizzette, anyone could see that. The judges hung out:

_5th Heat:_ _Ben Butler, 1st_; _Lizzette, 2nd._ _Time_, 2:24.

Travis's face was set, set in pain and disappointment when he went to the stable. He looked away off, he saw no one. He smoked. He walked over to the stall where they were cooling Lizzette out.

"Take the full twenty minutes to cool her, Jim."

In the next stall stood Sadie B. She had been driven around by Jud Carpenter, between heats, to exercise her, he had said. She was warmed up, and ready for speed.

Travis stood watching Lizzette cool out. Jud came up and stood looking searchingly at him. There was but a glance and a nod, and Travis walked over to the grand-stand, light-hearted and even jolly, where he stood in a group of society folks.

He was met by a protest of feminine raillery: "Oh, our gloves, our candy! Oh, Mr. Travis, to get beat that way!"

He laughed: "I'll pay all you ladies lose. I was just playing with the old pacer. Bet more gloves and candy on the next heat!"

"Oh--oh," they laughed. "No--no-o! We've seen enough!"

Travis smiled and walked off. He turned at the gate and threw them back a bantering kiss.

"You'll see--" was all he said.

The old man spent the twenty minutes helping to rub off Ben Butler.

"It does me good--kinder unkeys me," he said to Bud and Jack. He put his ear to the old horses' flank--it pulsed strong and true.

Then he laughed to himself. It vexed him, for it was half hysterical and he kept saying over to himself:

"Holy, holy, holy, Lord G.o.d Almighty-- All Thy works shall praise Thy name, in earth and sky and sea; Holy, holy, holy, merciful and mighty--"

Some one touched his arm. It was Jack: "Bishop, Bishop, time's up!

We're ready. Do you hear the bell clanging?"

The Bishop nodded, dazed:

"Here, you're kinder feeble, weak an', an' sorter silly. Why, Bishop, you're recitin' poetry--" said Jack apologetically. "A man's gone when he does that--here!"

He had gone to the old man's saddle bags, and brought out his ancient flask.

"Jes' a swaller or two, Bishop," he said coaxingly, as one talking to a child--"Quick, now, you're not yo'self exactly--you've dropped into poetry."

"I guess I am a little teched, Jack, but I don't need that when I can get poetry, sech poetry as is now in me. Jack, do you want to hear the gran'est verse ever writ in poetry?"

"No--no, Bishop, don't! Jack Bracken's yo' friend, he'll freeze to you. You'll be all right soon. It's jes' a little spell. Brace up an'