Now all at once Sir Mortimer laughed again, louder than before, and
in that same moment his gray swerved and cannoned lightly against
"The Terror," and--reared back only just in time to avoid the
vicious snap of two rows of gleaming teeth.
"Damnation!" cried Sir Mortimer, very nearly unseated, "can't you
manage that brute of yours!" and he struck savagely at "The Terror"
with his whip. But Barnabas parried the blow, and now--even as they
stared and frowned upon each other, so did their horses, the black
and the gray, glare at each other with bared teeth.
But, here, a sudden shout arose that spread and spread, and swelled
into a roar; the swaying line of horsemen surges forward, bends,
splits into plunging groups, and man and horse are off and away--the
great Steeplechase has begun.
Half a length behind Carnaby's gray gallops "The Terror," fire in
his eye, rage in his heart, for there are horses ahead of him, and
that must not be. Therefore he strains upon the bit, and would fain
lengthen his stride, but the hand upon his bridle is strong and
compelling.
On sweeps the race, across the level and up the slope; twice Sir
Mortimer glances over his shoulder, and twice he increases his pace,
yet, as they top the rise, "The Terror" still gallops half a length
behind.
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