Republican news item. [volume] (Laport, Pa.) 1896-19??, 1898-11-03

frst2 Look at the specimen. There's
tons aud tons of it. Getting there
first? Well, so he may, but we've
| got to be there before him!'
The English lad-he was scarcely
more than boy-pricked up his ears.
''Is it gold yer've found, Pat?"
"Good gold, the colonial answered,
curtly. "Good gold as ever see. But
Geordie's gone. There's no catching
him. Did yer come across the claim
together like?"
''We did," said Pat.
''Then," mused the colonial, "it's
ours as much as it is his by right and,
who's to say, not more? But the
brumby is his as we'll, aud there's no
catching that, for we've not got one
in the camp. There's no catching
him."
81 think -" the Englishman be-
| gan.
"No use Thinking won't stop
George. Some years ago he might ha'
been stopped my father
I've heard him say Well, he
knew men! Still, Geordie's gone. "
''I'll catch him, 1 will! I rode a
quad in England--I was a pro- you
| know. But l rode big machines for
shillings week and made the pace
for worse men than myself who earned
their pounds. I've got my old MAJ
chine in camp. It's veteran, but 1
can push it, can"
Pat stood up and smiled, for this
was his idea: The bicycle against the
horse.
''Here, bring it outr' The lad was
stripped to his waist already--it didn't
take him long. He had little to shift.
He took his bicycle from willing
hands. With leap and scramble he
was into the saddle.
"Mount Margaret, you say?"
"Mount Margaret. And luck to
yer!"
The English boy knew we'll the i'm
portance of saving himself. He had
done his share of pacing for many
record bout of so or 100 miles. He
was out of breath to start with, but
that was from pride and excitement.
1t was like old times again. He would
race and win gold for his partners and
himself. He had not done much for
the partnership as yet, but now he'd
show them that Englishmen. =.
But, steady. He must get his wind.
The path was smooth-worn smooth
by camels' feet-but dangerously mar
row and winding. But what did that
matter to "steerer" who could guide
''quad" at 80 miles an hour without
swerving from a chalk-line? This
was not half so bad as taking a triplet
round the Olympia course in London,
and that he could do right easily.
| Steady! Steadyl You're not at the
Crystal Palace now, with half dozen
multicycles ready to take you on and
shield you from the wind. Steady!
But keep on riding. No time to lose.
Phoo! the sun! Awful! He wished
he had kept his shirt on. Plug, plug!
And so close Oh an hour passed. Now
com paratively fresh, now seemingly
done; slow now, then fast again, and
still there was nothing on the horizon
but sand and sky.
Stay! There! Right straight ahead.
No, it was gone. Yes, there it was
again a cloud of dust. A tiny cloud,
but full of hope for the boy, for, as he
went, it travelled still before.
Ha, hal The dust grew near. Took
shape. 1t was the horse and on it, no
doubt, Geordie Maxwell, the man he
must pass. Was his horse beat? Why
was he going so slow? Ride, ride!
but still steady, steady, for there was
distance to be travelled still.
Just then the pad ran round the great
Salt lake that lies to the north of
Mount Margaret. The bicycle came
close and closer, but the horseman
seemed at loss. At length they
came together, and then the cyclist
saw his advantage. The edge of the
lake, for some way round, was crusted
with salt, coating thicker than ice.
but not so strong. Could one get over
this, miles might be saved and the race
won. Maxwell had tried and failed.
His horse was too heavy for the salt
and sunk in, almost helpless.
The English boy took stock. The
brumby did not sink over much, but
just enough to check his speed.
Geordie had wasted much valuable
time in taking this short cut. Still,
the salt which would not bear the
horse would carry the bicycle and it's
rider. So, while Maxwell wallowed as
best he could to frmer ground, the
cyclist sailed ahead, taking a cut across
corner of the lake. Then all seemed
safe. until, looking, the lad espied
another cloud Of dust. Yes, there were
two. The one was Maxwell's, who was
following as best he could, and the
other came along the track from the
west. They met and stopped.
A change of horses. Maxwell had
swopped with one Of those belonging
to the newcomers. Now ride, if ever
you did. No matter the sun. No mat
ter the dust and sweat which cling
round your eyes, half binding you.
Ride, Englishman, ride! The fresh
horse drew on and on, but Maxwell
was urging it beyond its strength, and
| %bof ba xyos IA;or sn