Savage as ever,
strong as ever, fast as ever, but each tremendous stride jarred
Venters out of the saddle! Wrangle's power and spirit and
momentum had begun to run him off his legs. Wrangle's great race
was nearly won--and run. Venters seemed to see the expanse before
him as a vast, sheeted, purple plain sliding under him. Black
Star moved in it as a blur. The rider, Jerry Card, appeared a
mere dot bobbing dimly. Wrangle thundered on--on--on! Venters
felt the increase in quivering, straining shock after every leap.
Flecks of foam flew into Venters's eyes, burning him, making him
see all the sage as red. But in that red haze he saw, or seemed
to see, Black Star suddenly riderless and with broken gait.
Wrangle thundered on to change his pace with a violent break.
Then Venters pulled him hard. From run to gallop, gallop to
canter, canter to trot, trot to walk, and walk to stop, the great
sorrel ended his race.
Venters looked back. Black Star stood riderless in the trail.
Jerry Card had taken to the sage. Far up the white trail Night
came trotting faithfully down. Venters leaped off, still half
blind, reeling dizzily. In a moment he had recovered sufficiently
to have a care for Wrangle. Rapidly he took off the saddle and
bridle. The sorrel was reeking, heaving, whistling, shaking. But
he had still the strength to stand, and for him Venters had no
fears.
As Venters ran back to Black Star he saw the horse stagger on
shaking legs into the sage and go down in a heap.
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