She watched Rickety slacken his run as that longdrawn yell began, so wild and high that it put a tingle in her nose.

Now he was trotting, now he was walking, now he stood perfectly still, become of a sudden, an abject, cowering figure.
The shout of the spectators was almost a groan, for Rickety had been beaten fairly and squarely at last and it was like the passing of some old master of the prize ring, the scarred veteran of a hundred battles.
"What happened ?" breathed Marianne.
"Rickety's lost his spirit," said Corson.

"That's all.

I've seen it come to the bravest men in the world.

A two-year-old boy could ride Rickety now.