"Steady, my boy--no you don't!" This as Diablo stuck his neck straight
out like an arrow and sought to hold the bit tight against the bridle
teeth, that he might race at his own sweet will. Back came the right
hand, then the left, three vicious saws, and the bit was loose and
Diablo's head drawn down again close to the martingale. Lucretia and
Lauzanne were pulling to the front.
"Go on!" called Porter to Ned Carter; "I want to see the little mare in
her stride. Take them out at three-quarter gallop down the back
stretch. I'll be treading your heels off."
By this they were opposite the old stand, where Shandy was hiding. The
boy, surmising that a gallop was on, and anxious to see them as they
rounded the turn going down the back, had knocked a board loose to widen
the crack. As the horses came abreast, Shandy, leaning forward in his
eagerness, dislodged it at the top, and it fell with a clatter, carrying
him half through the opening. The wind was blowing fair across the
little stand, so the scent of the boy came to Diablo's nostrils at the
same instant the startling noise reached his nervous ears. In a swerve
he almost stopped, every muscle of his big body trembling in affright.
Porter was nearly thrown from his seat by this crouching side step; the
horse seemed to shrink from under him.
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