Now they were neck and neck, and the rough ice was done with.

Six hundred yards away, not more, lay the goal, and all about them, outside the line of the course, were swift skaters travelling so fast that their heads were bent forward and down to within three feet of the ice.
Van de Werff called to his horse, and the grey began to gain.

Montalvo lashed the stallion, and once more they passed him.

But the black was failing, and he saw it, for Lysbeth heard him curse in Spanish.

Then of a sudden, after a cunning glance at his adversary, the Count pulled upon the right rein, and a shrill voice rose upon the air, the voice of the little girl in the other sledge.
"Take care, brother," it cried, "he will overthrow us." True enough, in another moment the black would have struck the grey sideways.