“Tailin’ ’em off,” muttered Old Mat.  “Ain’t ‘alf tuckin’ into it, Four-Pound ain’t.”

Then Lollypop began to lag, and Jerry’s arm was going.

“Stopped him dead,” said Silver.

“And he’s a good little two-mile hoss, too,” replied Old Mat.

Another moment and the white shirt came over the last fence, the brown horse soaring like some great eagle.

Silvertail, clinging gamely to her leader, brushed through the fence and pecked heavily on landing.

Monkey punished her savagely.

“Ain’t in a very pretty temper, Monkey ain’t,” muttered Old Mat, as the little jockey pulled aside and slipped off.  “Now Make-Way-There’ll take it up.”

The brown horse came thundering by, steady and strong, his little jockey collected as himself, lying out over her horse’s neck.

“The fences don’t trouble her much,” said Silver, his voice calm and heart beating.

“See, she’s that strong,” wheezed Old Mat confidentially.  “You wouldn’t think it, but there’s eight stun o’ that gal good.  It’s her bone’s so big.”

The brown horse had swept past them, going wide of the fences for the second time round.

Make-Way-There, who had been dancing on his toes away on the left as he waited for his cue, chimed in as Four-Pound-the-Second came up alongside him.

He settled down to his stride at once and took the lead.

The brown horse, entirely undisturbed by this new rival, held on his mighty way.

The two horses swung round the curve, on the outside of the fences, Four-Pound-the-Second on the inside berth and close to the quarters of his leader.

The horses dropped into a dip, but for some reason the echo of their hoofs came reverberating back to the watchers in ever-growing roar.  When they emerged from the hollow and raced up the opposite slope they were still together.

Then they made for home.

Old Mat had edged up alongside Silver.

“When he lays down to it, belly all along the ground!” he whispered, in the ecstasy of a connoisseur enjoying a masterpiece.

“Whew!—­can’t he streak!” cried Albert.

Then a silence fell upon the watchers like a cloud.  Their hearts were full, their spirits fluttering against the bars of their prison-house.

The horses dropped into a dip again, and only the heads and shoulders of the riders were seen surging forward, borne on the crest of a roaring avalanche of sound.

As they came up the last hill with shooting feet and knees that buffeted the air, they were locked together, the little riders lying over the necks of their horses and watching each other jealously.

In the silence there was something terrifying about the tumult of those swift, oncoming feet.  The earth shook and trembled.  Even Billy Bluff was awed and quivering.