The field swept into the stretch. Without moving his eyes, Carter
caught Dolly by the wrist and pointed. As though giving a signal,
he shot his free hand into the air.
"Now!" he shouted.
From the curtain of dust, as lightning strikes through a cloud,
darted a great, raw-boned, ugly chestnut. Like the Empire Express,
he came rocking, thundering, spurning the ground. At his coming,
Gold Heels, to the eyes of the crowd, seemed to falter, to slacken,
to stand still. The crowd gave a great cry of amazement, a yell of
disgust. The chestnut drew even with Gold Heels, passed him, and
swept under the wire. Clinging to his neck was a little jockey in
a green cap, green jacket, and hoops of green and white.
Dolly's hand was at her side, clutching the bench. Carter's hand
still clasped it. Neither spoke or looked at the other. For an
instant, while the crowd, no longer so good-natured, mocked and
jeered at itself, the two young people sat quite still, staring at
the green field, at the white clouds rolling from the ocean. Dolly
drew a long breath.
"Let's go!" she gasped. "Let's thank him first, and then take me
home!"
They found Dromedary in the paddock, and thanked him, and Carter
left Dolly with him, while he ran to collect his winnings. When he
returned, he showed her a sheaf of yellow bills, and as they ran
down the covered board walk to the gate, they skipped and danced.
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