"They're coming back," shouted a voice.
The turn had been made, but at the expense of two riders, whose
mounts, less sure footed than the rest, had gone down in the sharp
whirl for the home stretch.
The prize in this contest was to be a handsome telescope repeating
rifle, and the rivalry for it was keen. The battle would be a stern
one, and it was a foregone conclusion that the best horse would win.
Stacy Brown had not leaned far enough in at the turn, his saddle girth
slipping a little as a result. He felt the saddle give a little
beneath him, but did not realize what had happened until the pony had
straightened away on the home stretch. The saddle then slipped still
further under the weight of the rider.
Stacy threw almost the whole force of his weight on the right stirrup
to offset the list of the saddle on the other side, where the stirrup
had gone down too far for him to reach. And the first hurdle found
the lad clinging desperately to the pony's mane with one hand, the
jolt of the jump nearly dislocating his neck as the animal took it.
The youthful rider, finding himself safely over, uttered a series of
shrill yells and began urging on the pony with quick, short
encouraging blows of the quirt, though the blows were not heavy enough
to hurt the tough little beast at all. It was used to much more
serious treatment.
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