FOUNDER OF HIS RACE iii 



Swift, as one of a race divine who flies, rather than 

 treads the earth, Morgan's deep, wide chest cleaved the 

 air. 



Pressing close came Silvertail, breathing heavily. 



Mistress Lloyd had given Morgan his head, with inti- 

 mate trust and understanding. He would win — in his 

 own way — and she knew it. She was low in the saddle, 

 leaning close to his extended neck, pressing her knees 

 against his side. In a tender, restrained voice she whis- 

 pered, almost in his ear : 



''Win, my beauty! Win me my soldier at West 

 Point! Win me my love, my home, my father, and my 

 freedom from the persecutions of this man! Fly on! 

 Fly on, you 'Bird of the Desert' ! Win, and Allah will 

 bless you !" 



She was stretched like an Indian along the back of 

 her running horse. 



Then — there they were at the end of the course, Mor- 

 gan a full length ahead of Silvertail ! 



In an instant she was off and had buried her face in 

 Morgan's mane; she was sobbing and laughing all at 

 once, with her arms close about the horse's neck, as if 

 she would never let him go ! 



Silvertail came up, a small spot of blood showing on 

 his side where the cruel spur had wounded him. 



Master Knickerbocker drew from his pocket a packet 

 of papers, taking his defeat outwardly in better part than 

 might have been expected. 



"You have won, ma'am," he said in a low, hoarse 

 voice, for he had much to do to control himself. "You 

 have won, and that right fairly. I could have wished it 

 otherwise, nor do I yet see how 'twas done ! Your horse 

 was better than mine, I suppose; and now I shall bid 

 you good-bye, forever." 



Mistress Lloyd took the packet in her trembling fin- 



