St. Johnsbury Caledonian. [volume] (St. Johnsbury, Vt.) 1867-1919, 1902-08-27
is regaining steadily the ground lost in

the turn.
And now the struggle is for the
bridge over the ravine. The bays IL
front, running with mouths wide open
are evidently doing their best. Behind
them and every moment nearing them
but at the limit of their speed, too
come the lighter and fleeter citizens
team, while opposite their driver are
the pintos, pulling hard, eager and
fresh. Their temper is too uncertain
to send them to the front. They run
we'll following, but when leading can.
not be trusted, and, besides, a bronchC
hates q bridge, so Sandy holds them
where they are, waiting and hoping fol-
his chance after the bridge is crossed
Foot by foot the citizens team creep
up upon the flank of the bays, with the
pintos in turn hugging them closely, till
it seems as if the three, if none slack
ems, must strike the bridge together,
and this will mean destruction to one
at least. This danger Sandy perceives,
but he dare not check his leaders. Sud-
denly within few yards of the bridge
Baptiste throws himself upon the lines,
wrenches them out of Sandy's hands
and, with a quick swing, faces the pin
tos down the steep side of the ravine,
which is almost sheer ice with a thin
coat Of snow. 1t is daring course to
take, for the ravine, though not deep,
is full of underground and is partially
closed up by brush heap at the far
Their end. But, with yell, Baptiste
hurls his four horses down the slope
and into the underground. "Allons,
mes enfants! Courage! Vite! Vite!"
cries their driver, and nobly do the pin
tos respond.
Regardless Of bushes and brush
heaps, they tear their way through,
but as they emerge the high bob sleigh
catches a root, and, with crash, the
sleigh is hurled in the air. Baptiste's
cries ring out high and shrill as ever,
encouraging his team, and never cease
till, with plunge and a scramble, they
clear the brush heap lying at the
mouth of the ravine and are out on the
ice on the river, with Baptiste standing
on the front bob, the box trailing be-
hind and Sandy nowhere to be seen.
Three hundred yards of the course re-
main. The bays, perfectly handled,
have gained at the bridge and in the
descent to the ice and are leading the
citizens team by half a dozen lengths.
Behind both comes Baptiste. 1t is now
or never for the pintos. The rattle of
the trailing box, together with the
wild yelling Of the, crowd rushing
down the bank, excites the bronchos
to madness, and taking the bits in
their teeth, they do their first free run
ming that day. Past the citizens team
like whirlwind they dash, clear the
intervening space and gain the tanks
Of the bays. Can the bays hold them?
Over them leans their driver, plying
for the first time the Kissing lash.
Only fifty yards more. The miners be-
gin to yell. But Baptiste, waving his
lines high in one hand, seiZes his toque
with the other, whirls it about his head
and filings it with a fiercer yell than
ever at the bronchos. Like the burst
ing of hurricane the pintos leap for
ward and with a splendid rush cross
the scratch, winners by their own
length.
There was wild quarter Of an hour.
The shanty men had torn off their
coats and were waving them wildly
and tossing them high, while the
ranchers added to the uproar by emp
tying their revolvers into the air in
way that made one nervous.
When the crowd was somewhat
quoted, Sandys stiff figure appeared,
slowly making toward them. A dozen
lumbermen ran to him, eagerly inquir-
ing if he were hurt. But Sandy could
only curse the little Frenchman for
losing the race.
"Lost! Why, man, we've won It'll"
shouted a voice, at which Sandy's rage
vanished, and he allowed himself to
be carried in upon the shoulders of his
admirers.
"Where's the lad" was his first ques-
ton.
"The bronchos are off with him. He's
down at the rapids like enough"
"Let nae gow shouted Sandy, setting
off at a run in the track of the sleigh,
He had not gone far before he met
Baptiste coming back with his team
foaming, the roans going quietly, but
the bronchos dancing and eager to be
at it again.
"VOila! Bully boy! Tank the bon
Dieu, Sandy. You not keel, eh? All,
you are one grand chevalier!" eXclaim-
ed Baptiste, hauling Sandy in and
thrusting the lines into his hands. And
so they came back, the seighbox still
dragging behind, the pintos executing
fantastic figures on their hind legs an(
Sandy holding them down. The little
| Frenchman struck a dramatic attitude
and called OUT
"Voila! What's the matter wiz San
dy, heh?"
The roar that answered set the bron
chos off again plunging and kicking
and only when Baptiste got them by
the heads could they be induced tt
stand long enough to allow Sandy to b.
proclaimed winner of the race. Sever
al of the lumbermen sprang into thu