“Bot' t'umbs! but they're a pair,” muttered the Irishman; “be me soul, I t'ink they'll win.”
At the bottom turn into the stretch Mike could see that White Moth and The Dutchman had closed up on the Indian, so that they swung around the corner as one horse.
“Gad, she's shut off!” he muttered. It was a living wall, and through little chinks in its quivering face he could see specks of blue close up where raced Lauzanne.
“Poor gurl!” he gasped, “they've got her in a pocket. Damn them b'ys. Why did she hug the rail--she's fair t'rowed away the last chance.”
Halfway up the steps stood Langdon, and his coarse, evil face took on a look of unholy joy as Lauzanne was blotted into oblivion by the horses in front.
“Pocketed, by God! Clever Mister Dixon to put up a kid like that ag'in Westley an' the others,” he sneered.
Then a deafening roar went up from the stand. Somebody thrust a pair of broad shoulders in front of Mike's face; he leaned out far past the intruder, and saw the Indian sway drunkenly in his stride away from the rail, carrying White Moth and The Dutchman out; and into the opening he had left, glued to the rail, crept the chestnut form of Lauzanne.
A wild yell of Irish joy escaped Mike; then he waited. Now it would be a race; but Lauzanne was trying, trying all by himself, for the rider was as still as death. Already the clamor of many voices was splitting the air; all over the stand it was, “The favorite wins! The Dutchman wins!” Even yet there was no beckoning call for Lauzanne; but Mike knew. He had said to Allis before she went out, “If ye ever get level wit' 'em in the straight, ye can win.”
And now Lauzanne's yellow head was even with the others; and soon it was in front. And then there were only two battling--Lauzanne and The Dutchman; and on the Bay, Westley was riding with whip and spur.
“In a walk--in a walk, I tell you!” fairly screamed Old Bill, clutching at Mortimer's arm; “didn't I tell you? We're a tousand to de good. Look at him, look at him!” He had climbed halfway up Mortimer's strong back in his excitement. “Look at de kid! Never moved--in a walk, in a walk! Larcen all the way for a million!”
His voice generally weak and tattered like his clothes; had risen to a shrill scream of exultation.
