"
The girl hardly heard the implied compliment.
Would the patience be rewarded? Or would thirteen, that was symbolical
of evil, and its bearer, Diablo, who was an agent of evil, together
snatch from her this prize that meant so much? It was strange that she
should not think of the other horses at all. It was as though there were
but two in the race--Lucretia and Diablo--and yet they were both
outsiders.
"The Starter is having a bad time of it; that makes six false breaks,"
said Allis's companion; "it will end by his losing patience with the
boys, I fear, and let them go with something off in a long lead. But
they say this Fitzpatrick is a cool hand, and gives no man the best of
it. He'll probably fine Diablo's rider a hundred dollars; I believe
it's customary to do that when a jockey persistently refuses to come up
with his horses. Just look at that!--the black fiend has lashed out and
nearly crippled something."
"Not Lucretia, Mr. Crane!" gasped Allis.
"No, it's a chestnut--there they go! Good boy, Westley. I mean
Diablo's jockey has done a fiendish clever thing. He came through his
horses on the jump, carried them off their feet, they all broke--yes,
the flag's down, and he's out with a clean lead.
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