He sank to his knees in the soft black soil.

He could move but one foot at a time, and Alfred saw at a glance he had won the race.

The great weight of the roan handicapped him here.

When Alfred reached the other side of the bog, where the bottle was swinging from a branch of a tree, his rival's horse was floundering hopelessly in the middle of the treacherous mire.

The remaining three horsemen, who had come up by this time, seeing that it would be useless to attempt further efforts, had drawn up on the bank.