Then came a demon, hard held, with open mouth, and number 3 shone from
his raven side. Followed a flying squadron all packed together, their
hoofs rolling like drums. And then came aching lengths, and my eyes
filled with tears and something gripped my heart and squeezed it as
Tres Jolie, skimming like an eager swallow, fled past undaunted by that
hopeless gap.
"Whar my baby at?" asked Uncle Jake. He had heard the groan and the
silence, and fear was in his voice.
"Oh--Uncle Jake--" began Mrs. Dillon. "They--" her voice broke.
"Dey ain' left her at de post? Doan' tell me dat, Miss Sally!"
Mrs. Dillon nodded as though to eyes that saw. Uncle Jake seemed to
feel it.
"How fah back? How fah back?" he demanded.
"She ain't got a chance, Uncle Jake!" said Blister, and dropped his
head on his arm lying along the railing.
"How fah back?" insisted the old negro.
Blister raised his head and gazed.
"Twenty len'ths," he said, and dropped it again.
"Doan' you fret, Miss Sally," Uncle Jake encouraged. "She'll beat 'em
yet!"
"Not this time, old man," said Judge Dillon very gently. He was
tearing his program carefully into little pieces, with big shaking
hands. . . .
The horses were around the first turn, and the battle up the back
stretch had begun. The red bay was still leading.
"Mandarin in front!" said some one behind us. "Rob Roy second and
running easy--the rest nowhere!"
"Jes' you wait!" called Uncle Jake.
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