Then came Hervey's last, despairing effort: "Pull up! Shorty! Slim! Pull
up and try to drop that devil!"
They obeyed; Marianne, racing blindly ahead, heard a clanguor of shots
behind her and riveted her eyes on the chestnut, waiting for him to
fall. But he did not fall. He seemed to challenge the bullets with his
lordly head and in another moment he was wheeling with the mares about
him. Even in her anguish, Marianne noted with a thrill of wonder that
though the Coles horses were racing at the top of their speed, the
stallion overtook them instantly and shot into the lead. For that
matter, handicapped with a wretched ride, staggering weak from
underfeeding, he had been good enough to beat them in Glosterville, and
now he was transformed by rich pasture and glorious freedom.
The whole group disappeared, and when she reached the crest in turn, she
saw them streaking far off, hopelessly beyond pursuit, and in the rear
labored a grey mare, sadly outrun. Then, as she drew rein, with the mare
heaving and swaying from exhaustion beneath her, she remembered the
words of Lew Hervey: "It'll take ten years to get the chestnut!"
Marianne dropped her face in her hands and burst into tears.
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