The wind, blowing with heavy, steady blast into his face, sickened him with enduring, sweet odor, and filled his ears with a hollow, rushing roar.
Then for the hundredth time he measured the width of space separating him from Jerry Card.

Wrangle had ceased to gain.

The blacks were proving their fleetness.

Venters watched Jerry Card, admiring the little rider's horsemanship.

He had the incomparable seat of the upland rider, born in the saddle.