Goldie felt the sting of her whip when she brought him back into the
road, and, from merely fretting, he took to plunging angrily. Then, when
Beatrice pulled him up sharply, he thrust out his nose, grabbed the bit
in his teeth, and bolted down the hill, past all control.
"Good God, hold him!" shouted Sir Redmond, putting his horse to a run.
The advice was good, and Beatrice heard it plainly enough, but she
neither answered nor looked back. How, she thought, resentfully, was one
to hold a yellow streak of rage, with legs like wire springs and a neck
of iron? Besides, she was angrily alive to the fact that Keith Cameron,
watching down below, was having his revenge. She wondered if he was
enjoying it.
He was not. Goldie, when he ran, ran blindly in a straight line, and
Keith knew it. He also knew that the Englishman couldn't keep within
gunshot of Goldie, with the mount he had, and half a mile away--Keith
shut his teeth hard together, and went out to meet her. Redcloud lay
along the ground in great leaps, but Keith, bending low over his neck,
urged him faster and faster, until the horse, his ears laid close
against his neck, did the best there was in him. From the tail of his
eye, Keith saw Sir Redmond's horse go down upon his knees, and get up
limping--and the sight filled him with ungenerous gladness; Sir Redmond
was out of the race.
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