"The race is yours," answered the young man, in much disappointment, and then he dropped further back than ever.
"Better slacken up, Bob," said Bert. "There is no use in driving so hard now."
"I—I can't slacken up," answered Bob, "Steady, Rusher," he called out. "Whoa, old fellow, whoa!"
But the old race horse did not intend to whoa, and on he flew as fast as his legs would carry him, up the first hill and then onward toward the turn before mentioned.
"Be careful at the turn, Bob!" screamed Bert. "Be careful, or we'll go over!"
"Whoa, Rusher!" repeated Bob, and pulled in on the reins with all of his might.
The turn where the sand pit had been was now close at hand. Here the road was rather narrow, so they had to drive close to the opening, now more than half filled with drifted snow. Bert clung to the cutter while Bob continued to haul in on the reins. Then came a crash, as the cutter hit a hidden stone and drove straight for the sand pit.
"Hold on!" cried Bob, and the next instant
