He hurled
Mariedetta out of his path with brutal disregard, but even before
he could reach his point of vantage the sprinters burst into the
homestretch. Larry Glass saw it all at a glance--Speed was
weakening, while Skinner was running easily. Nature had done her
utmost; she could not work the impossible. As they tore past,
Skinner was ahead.
The air above the corral became blackened with hats as if a flock
of vultures had wheeled suddenly; the shriek of triumph that rose
from the Centipede ranks warned the trainer that he had tarried
too long. Heavily he set off across the prairie for New York.
The memory of that race awakened Speed from his slumbers many
times in later years. When he found the brown shoulder of his
rival drawing past he realized that for him the end of all things
was at hand. And yet, be it said to his credit, he held doggedly
to his task, and began to fight his waning strength with renewed
determination. Down through the noisy crowd he pounded at the
heels of his antagonist, then out upon the second lap. But now
his fatigue increased rapidly, and as it increased, so did
Skinner's lead.
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