Vilas County news. [volume] (Eagle River, Vilas County, Wis.) 1896-1927, 1910-05-04
LORRIE
"a bird" suggests Jack.
By Charles Garvice


is a beautiful sight! l never knew
racing was so exciting don't Won
dor at men running themselves on the
turf Get over it? 1t is my belief that
Gipsv could jump house!
1--WE shall soon see,' says Seymour
Melford. quietly; they are very neal
now
| Tbnv are near, indeed. Side nv s1de,
neck bv neck. the two horses approach
the crucial test. Gypsy is still eo'ng
we'll within himself, but to the initial
cd +bere are signs in the going OF the
Irish horse which tend to snow lnaC
bic hull, is telling upon his pace. Inc
excitement is so great that SUDDEN
Inch falls upon the crowd, and III
This first strange quietude the TWO
horses approach the Jump.
LORD Guy is nearest the rail. he Is
ae calm as a millpond, and slts III
tho saddle as lightly and easily as u
no were in his armchair. Inc manu-
that enides and controls his furious
horse is as steady as a rock, ana YET
is as light of pressure as 1eathel'
Reforo him rises the big fence with
+be cold silver stretch of water pc
hind With a glance he takes us
measurement and touches Gypsy $
o,,iv oring shoulder with his whip
Torrie sees the horse gather ltseh
together. and holds her breath Al
that moment. why she knows not her
attention is attracted by man IN the
crowd near the jump who mas
climbed upon the rail, and who sud
denly whips a pocket handkerchief
from his pocket and with yell that
NAV he a cheer or may not, waves the
sheet of white wildly in the air.
Lord Guy sees it and uses the spurs
to keep Gypsy straight, but the yen
and the flash of white almost before
his ewes are too much for the nerV-
Gus, highly-strung horse. win
ouiver he swerves aside as he RISES
and the next moment, though he clears
the fence, falls into the ditch on the
other side,
"Gipsy's down! The faVorlte $
down." scream the betting men, Inc
Irish horse wins!"
From her perch Lorrie has seen IL
all For a second she stands motion
less. and white as a snowdrop' tnen
she let's her hands fall upon Greta's
shoulders lust beneath her, and grasps
them tightly
=; - +bo+ hos came over her?
Is she going to faint? The course, the
swaving multitude swim before her
ewes as if in mist, the roar SOUNDS
dull muffled in her ears, and her eyes,
strained upon the spot on when
Ginsv has fallen. grown burning hot.
Greta feels the tight grasp of the
little hands, and turns to her with
shock of surprise and dismay as she
sees the white face.
"Lorrie! Don't be frightened! Lor-
RE! Lorrie!"
Jorrfe's 1ips-not red as the cherry
now. but pale as death-move, but no
sound comes for moment, then
whisper of horror leaves them.
He is klllSu. he 10 h44AOu'
Hush! Hush! For heavens sake,
dear. He is not killed! Look"
Where? Where?"
Then she sees a strange sight. Who
saws that there is no pluck left IN the
modern generation of Englishmen?
Half stunned, wet from head to foot,
his gay Jacket stained and torn, Lord
Kendale is seen staggering toward his
horse, which stands wet and tremb-
ling beside the ditch.
Is he going to attempt to remount?
At the mere suspicion the crowd
surges to and fro with wild excitement
which eliminates in, a roar as Lord
GUY springs into the saddle, and, rid
ing as if for life, urges his horse in
pursuit of his rival.
His whip is in the ditch, but Gypsy
does not seem to need it. AS If he
knew that his reputation, his equine
credit, depended upon supreme, gil
gantic effort, he dashes along. They
are on the fat now, and speed, sheer
speed. will win. But what start the
Irish horse has got! Nothing short OF
a miracle can enable his pursuer to
gain upon him. But there is Arab
blood in the sIight-looking Gypsy, the
blood that will not let its possessor|
know whenit is beaten, will not give
up till all is over and the post is
passed, though death is the result
With distended nostrils and blazing
eyes, Gypsy strains every nerve; inch
by inch he gains upon his opponent.
Inch by inch and now foot by foot, he
lessons the distance. Thud, thud, sound
the flying hoofs. The crowd, standing
awestruck at the spectacle of such
pluck and resolution, is silent as the
grave. Not man cheers. not man
moves. White as death. Seymour Mel
ford stands with the field glasses
pressed against his eyes. He cannot
see for the furious rage which shakes
him. Yard by yard the wet, mud
stained horse is gaining still. In an
other moment it is abreast of the Irish
horse, in another it leads. Then the