Marianne saw Colonel Dickinson with the fingers of one hand buried in his plump breast; the other had reared his hat aloft, frozen in place in the midst of the last flourish; and never in her life had she seen such mingled incredulity and terror.
She looked back again.

There were three sections to the race now.

The range ponies were hopelessly out of it.

The Coles horses ran well in the lead.

Between, coming with tremendous bounds, was Alcatraz.