The giant sorrel thundered on--and on--and on.

In every yard he gained a foot.

He was whistling through his nostrils, wringing wet, flying lather, and as hot as fire.

Savage as ever, strong as ever, fast as ever, but each tremendous stride jarred Venters out of the saddle! Wrangle's power and spirit and momentum had begun to run him off his legs.

Wrangle's great race was nearly won--and run.