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"She'll never make it up," Porter replied, as he watched the jumble of red, and yellow, and black patterned into a trailing banner, which waved, and vibrated, and streamed in the glittering sunlight, a furlong down the Course and the tail of it was his own blue, whitestarred jacket. In front, still a good two lengths in front, gleamed scarlet, like an evil eye, the all red of Lauzanne's colors.
Save for the curling smoke that streamed lazily upward from his cigar one might have thought the banker fast asleep in his chair, so still he sat, while his mind labored with the quiescent velocity of a spinning top. He had won a big stake over Lauzanne's victory. The race had helped beggar Porter, and brought Ringwood nearer his covetous grasp.
Incoherently but altogether these thoughts filled her mind; also the knowledge that Mike was beyond hearing. "Help, Mortimer!" she called. He heard it as he reached the stable door. Even then he would have been too late had not other rescue come more quickly. In rushing from Lauzanne's stall Allis had left the door swinging on its hinges.
He had said to Allis before she went out, "If ye ever get level wit' 'em in the straight, ye can win." And now Lauzanne's yellow head was even with the others; and soon it was in front. And then there were only two battling Lauzanne and The Dutchman; and on the Bay, Westley was riding with whip and spur.
But put it on straight and place; then if Lauzanne's the goods we'll save." Lewis was gone about four minutes. "You're on," he said, when he returned; "I've two hundred on the Chestnut for myself." "Lauzanne?" "It's booked that way; but I'm backin' the Trainer, Langdon. I went on my uppers two years ago backing horses; I'm following men now."
As the girl entered the stable, Mortimer sauntered on in the direction Mike had gone. Allis opened the door of Lauzanne's stall, passed in, and searched in the straw for the lost glove. The noise of strife in Diablo's box had increased.
The presence of a friend in the race cheered her; the discovery she had dreaded had come as a blessing. Crane's words had started a train of thought in Langdon's mind. All at once he remembered that the face of Lauzanne's rider had a dream-like familiarity. He had not given it much thought before; but his owner's suggestion that the boy was like Alan Porter echoed in his ears.
In the end the stallions were forced out into the passage, just as Mike came rushing upon the scene. But the battle had waned. Twice Diablo had been pulled to his knees, forced down by the fierce strength that was Lauzanne's; the Black was all but conquered.
The boy said nothing, and Mortimer fancied that his face flushed guiltily. "Yes, I can put it back now that Lauzanne's won," continued Mortimer; "but don't say a word to a soul about it, I don't want anybody to know I was betting." "But what money?" began Alan. "I've won a thousand dollars on Lauzanne "
With all his racing finesse he was a babe. The smooth, complacent-faced man in front of him made him realize this. "But," he gasped, "there was a row over Lauzanne's race. If The Dutchman runs in my name, an' a lot o' mugs play him it's dollars to doughnuts they will an' he gets beat, there'll be a kick. I can't take no chances of bein' had up by the Stewards."
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