Every horseman lay forward on the neck of his horse, caps fell, capes flew, and in mid-course every one fancied he was going to win.

One steed stumbled beneath his rider; the rest galloped on.
From the carriages it was easy to see how the Whitsun King was galloping along among the rest, his long chaplet of flowers streaming in the wind behind him.

One by one he overtook those who were galloping in front of him, and as often as he left one of them behind he gave him a crack with his whip, crying derisively, "Wire away, little brother!" By the time three quarters of the course was traversed he had plainly left them all behind, or rather all but one--the stranger-youth.
Martin hastened after him likewise.

His horse was longer in the body, but the other's was as swift as the wind.

And now only two hundred paces were between them and the goal.