The foreman pulled the trigger and the ponies began to dance about.
Bang!
"Whoop-e-e-e!" yelled the riders, digging in the rowels of their
spurs.
A dozen ponies fairly leaped into the air under the prod of spur and
quirt. Away they dashed enveloped in a cloud of dust.
"They're off!" roared the crowd.
Stacy, still clinging to his sandwich, was well up with the leaders of
the bunch when they got away. He was riding with elbows up to a level
with his shoulders, one hand grasping reins and quirt, the other
holding the sandwich to his mouth.
The spectators shouted with laughter at the sight.
"There goes somebody!" cried Walter.
One of the ponies had fouled the first hurdle and gone down, plowing
the dust with its nose, while the cowboy made a fairly graceful dive
through the air, landing on his head and shoulders. The riders
directly behind him were obliged to hurdle pony and rider, which they
did without mishap to either. Stacy, fortunately was ahead, else he
too might have come a cropper.
This left a field of eleven, all of whom were bunched, their mounts
almost rubbing sides. By this time the dust cloud was so dense that
the spectators were able to make nothing at all of what was going on
at the other end of the course.
"I hope the youngsters are all right," said Phipps a little anxiously,
for the race was one of the roughest he had ever seen, and then the
young miner was not much of a horseman, which made the contest seem
much more hazardous to him than it really was.
Pages:
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149