The pistol cracked and rang out upon the midday air with startling
suddenness, and immediately they were off on a fine start to the
accompaniment of the cheering of the crowd which lined the whole track
in a great circle. The first round ended with the runners much as they
had started, the interval between each being fairly equally maintained.
Semple, however, dropped out, not caring to overstrain himself as he had
some heavy racing next day at another gathering, where a much higher
money prize was the allurement.
Round the others went, the excitement growing among the crowd, who kept
shouting encouraging remarks to the racers as they passed.
"Keep it up, Robin!" cried Andrew Marshall. "Keep it up, my lad. Ye're
daein' fine."
"Come away, Rundell, the race is yer ain," shouted an enthusiastic
supporter of Peter.
"Nae wonner!" answered Matthew Maitland, heatedly. "They've gi'en him
the race in a present. Look at the handikep!"
"An' what aboot it?" enquired the other, not knowing what to answer.
"Plenty aboot it," replied Matthew. "If it hadna' been he was Peter
Rundell, he wadna' ha'e gotten sic a start. Black Jock means him to get
the race, an' it's no' fair.
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