Just before entering the stretch for home Hartman began to move on Duane. “He’s coming!” “He’s coming!” Gil whispered, for he was too excited to speak, and we both stood speechless watching the fierce battle that was opening a quarter of a mile away. Cornelius rides Boston a little wide on turning in the stretch in order that his whip hand might be free to drive. Hartman sees the opening thus made next the rail and rushes Duane in it. It was skillful riding on both sides. Hartman had no whip, but rode with spurs, while Cornelius had no spurs, for Boston would not stand them, but rode with a whip, and if Hartman in a tight finish could get so close to Cornelius on his whip side as to prevent him from using the lash he would have a big advantage. This Cornelius prevented by riding a little out on the turn. The spurt of Duane was greeted with the old-time cheer of his backers. “He comes! he comes!” “See him come!” went up from the throats of thousands, but it ceased almost as suddenly as it began, for the red horse is coming with him, and at that moment not a hand’s breadth divides them. But Hartman’s judgment in saving his horse now begins to tell, and inch by inch the brown stud begins to slowly but surely draw away. First a nose, then a head, then a neck and shoulders he pushes to the front. Hartman’s knee is at Boston’s head. Duane is a half length in front and only an eighth of a mile to run. Can he hold? Cornelius shifts both reins to his left hand, the cat-gut whirls above his head and falls upon the flank of Boston, cutting the thin skin of the thoroughbred like a knife. Maddened with pain and his own desire to win Boston bites savagely at Duane, but catches Hartman’s trousers at the knee and nearly tears them off of the jockey. Cornelius pulls him loose, lifts his head, straightens him and again the cruel rawhide tastes his blood. Responding to the lash with unfaltering courage, with the shouts of “Duane,” “Duane,” “Duane wins!” ringing in his ears, the great horse with almost human instinct seems to know that the supreme moment has come, as he puts forth the last vital ounce of strength that yet lingers in his powerful muscles and begins to draw up on Duane. Each weary leap brings him nearer and nearer the head of the gallant brown, whose last rush at the head of the stretch is now beginning to tell upon him. Only fifty feet from the wire and they are nose and nose. Horses and riders were rolling from side to side, all utterly exhausted. Still, with outstretched necks, distended nostrils and eyes yet flaming with passion, the fierce contest goes on as they literally stagger towards the finish, for the pace is now nothing more than a hard gallop. Cornelius is reeling from exhaustion in his saddle, but with a last effort he partially lifts the drooping head of Boston, cuts him with the whip and—the race is over! Boston wins! But so dead tired are both horses that Boston, although the winner, actually stopped directly under the wire, and Duane walked under it.
Whin I was gitting ondrissed to-nite I herd me dure opening, and I guv a lowd yill, fer I’m in me chimmy aloan. As Miss Clair cum in, I rooshed into me closet, and I spoak to the child frum behind the harf closed dure.
The elevator then appeared at the top of the opening, and slowly descended.
about the time the Baker robbery occurred “the outrages of Mason became more frequent and sanguinary” and that “the name of Mason and his band was known and dreaded from the morasses of the southern frontier to the silent shades of the Tennessee River.” Mason’s depredations must have been many, although authenticated records of only a few specific instances are now found.
A bearded goat eyed the Boyar Chef sardonically, jaw working. "Look at that long-nosed son!" The goat gave a derisive bleat and took another mouthful of ripe grain.
To hunt ole cotton-tail.
“I afterwards heard that Kuykendall was killed by some of the party at the close of the ball.
Before her mental vision rose her husband's handsome, careworn face--the keen grey eyes, the dark hair frosted at the temples; and with it came remembrance, realisation of all he must have suffered in the past. How often he had told her that she had restored to him his trust in womanhood, had made him happy when all hope of happiness had seemed denied him.
"To praise a man for what he does not possess is to make him appear foolish," Retief said. "These are the lands of the Boyars. But enough of these pleasantries. We seek audience with your ruler."
“Eh bien, afterwards he had to wear a false beard and wig, had to make up as himself again, and to sleep with a false beard is not easy—it invites detection! He cannot risk continuing to share the chamber of madame his wife. You found out for me that for the last six months, or ever since his supposed return from Buenos Ayres, he and Mrs. Davenheim occupied separate rooms. Then I was sure! Everything fitted in. The gardener who fancied he saw his master going round to the side of the house was quite right. He went to the boathouse, donned his ‘tramp’ clothes, which you may be sure had been safely hidden from the eyes of his valet, dropped the others in the lake, and proceeded to carry out his plan by pawning the ring in an obvious manner, and then assaulting a policeman, getting himself safely into the haven of Bow Street, where nobody would ever dream of looking for him!”
“By now the boat must be heading out from the shore again,” said Amos, jumping to his feet to look, immediately adding excitedly: “Yes, there she is as sure as anything, with the men pulling like horses. I’m afraid the mist is rising some, and if that is so they’ll surely be seen.”
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