It seemed to him that one woman fluttered her handkerchief, and his heart beat unevenly for a minute.
Then he was riding at a walk down the course to the farthest post, and the crowd was laughing at the contrast between the two horses.

Boise stepped springily, tossing his head, his eyes ablaze with ardor for the race.

Beside him Sunfish walked steadily as if he were carrying a pack.
He was not a pretty horse to look at.

His neck was long and thin, his mane and tail scanty and uneven, a nondescript sorrel.

His head looked large, set on the end of that neck, his nose was dished in and his eyes had a certain veiled look, as if he were hiding a bad disposition under those droopy lids.