"We'll mighty soon see," said Milton, as he wound the lines around his hands and braced his feet, giving a low whistle, which seemed to run through the colt's blood like fire. His stride did not increase in rate, but its reach grew majestic as he seemed to lengthen and lower. His broad feet flung great disks of hard-packed snow over the dasher, and under the clash of his bells the noise of the other team grew plainer. "Get out of the way," sang Milton, as he approached the other team. There was challenge and exultation in his tone. "Hello! In a hurry?" shouted those in front, without increasing their own pace. "Ya-as, something of a hurry," drawled Milton in a disguised voice. "Wa-al? Turn out an' go by if you are." "No, thankee, I'll just let m' nag nibble the hay out o' your box an' take it easy." "Sure o' that?" "You bet high I am." Milton nudged Bettie, who was laughing with delight. "It's Bill an' his bays. He thinks there isn't a team in the country can keep up with him. Get out o' the way there!" he shouted again. "I'm in a hurry." "Let 'em out! Let 'em out, Bill," they heard Cy say, and the bays sprang forward along the level road, the bells ringing like mad, the snow flying, the girls screaming at every lurch of the sleighs. But Marc's head still shook haughtily above the end-gate; still the foam from his lips fell upon the hay in the box ahead. "Git out o' this! Yip!" yelled Bill to his bays, but Marc merely made a lunging leap and tugged at the lines as if asking for more liberty. Milton gave him his head and laughed to see the great limbs rise and fall like the pistons of an engine. They swept over the weeds like a hawk skimming the stubble of a wheat field. "Get out o' the way or I'll run right over your back," yelled Milton again. "Try it," was the reply. "Grab hold of me, Bettie, and lean to the right. When we turn this corner I'm going to take the inside track and pass 'em." "You'll tip us over"---- "No, I won't! Do as I tell you." They were nearing a wide corner, where the road turned to the right and bore due south through the woods. Milton caught sight of the turn, gave a quick twist of the lines around his hands, leaned over the dasher and spoke shrilly: "Git out o' this, Marc!" The splendid brute swerved to the right and made a leap that seemed to lift the sleigh and all into the air. The snow flew in such stinging showers Milton could see nothing. The sleigh was on one runner, heeling like a yacht in a gale; the girl was clinging to his neck; he could hear the bells of the other sleigh to his left; Marc was passing them; he heard shouts and the swish of a whip. Another convulsive effort of the gray, and then Milton found himself in the road again, in the moonlight, where the apparently unwearied horse, with head out-thrust, nostril wide-blown and body squared, was trotting like a veteran on the track. The team was behind. "Stiddy, boy!"