Sunset Ranch: A Story of a Boy's Adventures in the West — page 73: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

At the Sioux Camp. 65 Then the dusky rider plied his whip, and his horse shot forward like a hawk darting upon its quarry. One touch of Karl’s quirt and Buckskin was hold- ing his own, his nose just behind the big gray’s rump. Such shrieks and yells as arose all along the line— it was like pandemonium broke loose; but Karl paid no attention to the derisive execrations of the ex- cited Indians or the encouraging shouts of his cow- boy adherents—all he saw was that figure on the big gray just ahead and the mocking sneer on Lit- tle Buckshot’s face whenever the latter turned to look back in the hope that he had shaken his per- sistent pursuer off. A third stretch opened. The Indian had started to belabor his mount as only one of his kind, acting under stress of excite- ment can, and the animal was really doing his best. By this time the pace was terrific, and delighted- spectators of all shades; though deep anxiety made itself manifest on many faces as they watched the two boy rivals go thundering past, for heavy wagers depended on the final result. Karl knew his hand was on the prize. He still held Buckskin close behind the big gray, and as yet had had no occasion to call upon that wonderful reserve—it was a card he held up his sleeve. To beat the Indian was not enough—he desired to snatch victory away from him just when the other felt sure of winning. This required good judgment on his part, since a mistake might ruin all. The last quarter was taken up. Now they passed the first stake of the triangle and made the sharp turn without a change—when the second had been reached and the gap between had Connicloooks.€©