FOUNDER OF HIS RACE 8i 



hair seem made for much cold and beating ; and he, with 

 the blood of the South in his veins! 



It was too much for Evans. 



"This is no Canadian," he contradicted, shortly ; "this 

 horse is a Thoroughbred." 



The Coxcomb laughed derisively, and flicked his boot. 



"None the less, the brute would answer to the order 

 'Marches done!' . . . Not so, my friend?" He 

 struck True on the side with his keen whip, making him 

 spring forward. 



"What said I ?" he scoffed with a shrug. "The horse 

 does not lie about his pedigree." 



Ignoring the insulting inference, Evans quieted Mor- 

 gan with a caress and cried: 



"For shame, sir ! Would you have me strike your 

 horse thus?" 



But Master Knickerbocker had moved away, laughing 

 insolently. 



The course was measured, the scratch drawn and 

 Nathan Nye stood ready to drop the hat. Several of the 

 men went to the finish-line to witness and testify to the 

 result of the three races. 



The course faced the east, so that the eyes of the 

 horses and their riders were turned from the sunset glow 

 which was then illumining the world. The road was 

 smooth, and a recent rain had laid the dust; the condi- 

 tions were better than usual. The pungent odor of new- 

 sawn lumber filled the air and the chirping of birds from 

 the nearby forest made sweet music. 



One of the Ethan Allen hor&es walked briskly forward 

 under his rider, while the Morgan joined him in the 

 friendly way which was his natural manner towards all 

 animals. They waited pleasantly, yet spiritedly, for the 

 drop of the hat. 



When the signal was oiven they ran neck and neck 



