But behind him
is the sound of a floundering splash,--another! and another! The air
is full of shouts and cries quickly lost in the rush of wind and the
drumming of galloping hoofs, and, in a while, turning his head, he
sees Slingsby's "Rascal" racing close behind.
"Bit of a rasper, that, b'gad!" bellows the Captain, radiant of face.
"Thinned 'em out a bit, ye know, Beverley. Six of 'em--down and out
of it b'gad! Carnaby's behind, too,--foot short at the water. Told
you it would be--a good race, and b'gad--so it is!"
Inch by inch the great, black horse and the raking sorrel creep up
nearer the leaders, and, closing in with the Viscount, Barnabas
wonders to see the ghastly pallor of his cheek and the grim set of
mouth and jaw, till, glancing at the sleeve of his whip-arm, he sees
there a dark stain, and wonders no more. And the race is but begun!
"Dick!" he cried.
"That you, Bev?"
"Your arm, Dick,--keep your hand up!"
"Arm, Bev--right as a trivet!"
And to prove his words, the Viscount flourished his whip in the air.
"Deuce take me! but Jerningham's setting a devilish hot pace," he
cried. "Means to weed out the unlikely ones right away.
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