There was mad riding that day. The camp had hitherto seen nothing like it. The men from neighboring camps, who had entered fine horses upon which they had staked all their earthly possessions, had gone in to win, and were resolved that Whirlwind should not have this race, if grit in man and beast could prevent it. Every horse was strained to its extremest powers, and every rider rode with a conscious risk of neck and limb, but if the others did the utmost possible, it seemed as though Whirlwind and his rider did the impossible. Every eye was so strained upon that break-neck rush around the course, that a spectator was very sure of escaping observation; so no one saw the little sister’s face. Even the motherly old creature at her side was peering eagerly through her steel-rimmed spectacles, not in any absorption in the race, but in dire anxiety for the life and limbs of those reckless men. One man, in truth, was thrown and stunned, one noble horse out-strained himself and broke a blood-vessel, but Whirlwind’s rider, who had been the boldest there, came in unscathed, and Whirlwind won the race. And then began a whooping and cheering that made the place a pandemonium, which even the unwonted feminine presence in their midst could not keep in abeyance. Gold and silver, flowing like water, passed from hand to hand, making some rich, and others poor; for in the camp such indebtednesses were settled on the instant, and no man shirked. When accounts were apparently squared, Jerry, wild with enthusiasm, sprang up in front of the cart in which the sisters sat, and shouted lustily: “Our horse has won the race! Hurrah for Whirlwind and Bill Will!” When the cheer had been repeated to the echo, Jerry, taking fresh breath, went on: “And hurrah for the sisters and the orphans, too, I say! March up here, every mother’s son of you, and ante up half your winnin’s for the orphans! Here you are, old girl,” he said, throwing a big handful of gold into her lap. “That’s half of my pile, and if ever you tackle an orphan o’ mine, teach it to bet its last dollar on the winnin’ horse! Come ahead, boys! Every last one o’ you throw in half your pile, and the devil take the one that refuses!” For the next five minutes, the gold and silver coins fell like pouring hailstones into the old sister’s ample lap, and while this was going on, Bill Will, with quiet, stealthy footsteps, approached the cart from the other side, and poured his contribution into the lap of the younger sister. Those who noticed it were not aware that it was not the half, but the whole of his winnings, of which he so disposed. Nor did they notice that, among the coins, was a little woodland flower, which he had stooped and gathered. This small and worthless offering was not wholly overlooked, however, for before she turned over her rich tribute of gold to her companion, the little sister took the flower and hid it in the folds of her gray gown--an action that was clearly seen by one.