remembering his bet against Lady Mary, and lo, Lady Mary was breezing in
front well within her strength. One glance at her pricking ears told an
eloquent story. Near them Marianne saw big Colonel Dickinson capering.
And the sight inspired a shrewd suspicion. What if he knew the
reputation of Alcatraz and to secure his bets on Lady Mary, had bribed
Cordova at the last moment to pull his horse. Certainly it seemed that
was what the Mexican was doing.

"There's a lady," the colonel was shouting. "Go it, girl. Go it, beauty.
Lady Mary! Lady Mary!"

Marianne raised her field glasses and studied the rush of horses through
the fog of dust.

"It's just as I thought," she cried, without lowering the glasses. "The
scoundrel is pulling Alcatraz! He rides as if he were afraid of
something--afraid that the horse might break away. Look, Mr. Corson."

"I dunno," said Corson. "It sure does look sort of queer!"

"Why, he's purposely keeping that horse in a pocket. Has him on the
rail. Oh, the villain!" It was a cry of shrill rage. "_He's sawing on
the bit!_ And the chestnut has his ears back. I can see the glint of his
eyes. As if he wants to run simply because he is being held. But there--
there--there! He's got the bit in his teeth. His head goes out. Mr.
Corson, is it too late for Alcatraz to win the race?"

She dropped the glasses. There was no need of them now. Rounding into
the long home stretch Cordova made a last frightened effort to regain
control and then gave up, his eyes rolling with fear; Alcatraz had got