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“Oh, but he hasn’t anybody to back him,” she protested. “No; I sha ‘nt back Hurricane. I shall back him.”

“Which? The horse or the rider?”

“The horse–no, both!” she declared, firmly. “And oh, papa,” she exclaimed, glancing back at him over her shoulder, “they say he wants to win to send his sister to school and to go to college himself.”

“Well, I must say you seem to have learned a good deal about him for the time you had.”

She nodded brightly. “That ‘s what the old colored man told a friend of mine.”

“If he does n’t go to college till he wins with that horse,” said Mr. Newby, “he is likely to find his education abbreviated.”

“I shall back him, anyhow.” She settled herself in her seat.

“Here, I ‘ll tell you what I will do. I will bet you he don’t get a place,” said Mr. Newby.

“How much? What is a ‘place’?” she asked.

It was explained to her.

“How much–a hundred to one!”

“No; not that!”

“You ‘re learning,” laughed her friends.

“There! they ‘re off. Here they come!” buzzed the crowd, as the flag at last fell, and they came up the field, a dozen in all, two in the lead, then a half-dozen together in a bunch, and two or three behind, one in the rear of all. Old Robin’s heart dropped as the cry went up: “The countryman ‘s left. It ‘s yellow-jacket!” It was too far off for him to see clearly, but the laughter about him was enough.

“That boy don’t know how to ride. What did they put him in for?” they said.

A minute later, however, the tone changed. The country boy was coming up, and was holding his horse in, too. The riders were settling themselves and spreading out, getting their horses in hand for the long gallop.

In fact, the old trainer’s last piece of advice to his young pupil was worthy of a Delphic track,

“Don’ let ’em lef you; but don’t let ’em wind you. Don’t git so far behind ‘t folks ‘ll think you ‘s ridin’ in de next race; but save him for de last half-mile. You ‘ll have plenty o’ room den to let him out, an’ de track ‘s mighty heavy. Watch Hurricane an’ Fightin’ Creek. Keep nigh ’em, but save him, an’ look out for de Liverpool.”

It was on this advice that the young rider was acting, and though he was in the rear at the start he did not mind it. He saw that two or three riders were trying to set the pace to kill off the other horses, and he held his horse in, picking his ground.

So they passed two or three fences, the horses in the same order, and came toward the water-jump in front of the stands. It was a temptation to rush for it, for the safest chance was in front, and the eyes of thousands were on them. Some of the riders did rush, and the leaders got over it well; but in the bunch two horses struck and went down, one going over and turning a complete somersault on the other side, the other from a false take-off falling back on the near side, with his rider almost under him, immediately in front of young Johnston’s horse. Whether it was the fall of the two horses with the splash of the water in the ditch beyond, or whether it was the sudden twitch that Johnston gave his bridle to turn the brown as the horse and rider rolled almost immediately before him, or whether it was all these taken together, the brown horse swerved and refused turning entirely back, while the rest of the field swept on. The other horses and riders had scrambled to their feet, and the mind of the crowd was relieved. They broke into a great shout of laughter as the rider of the brown deliberately rode the horse back.

“You are going the wrong way!”