When they got to the starting line, the other riders were already there with their horses. Now that the group was complete, they walked up to the line, the horses dancing nervously, the riders adjusting their grips on the reins. Everyone stared straight ahead, focused on the task before them.
The starting official walked to the starting line himself, and took his spot just at the edge of it, while two men lifted a rope in front of the horses. When the whistle blew, Pilar knew, that rope would drop. And they’d be off.
“The race will start when the rope drops to the ground,” the official announced. “Do not attempt to leap the rope, or you will be disqualified. Wait for the rope to drop before taking off.”
Then, without warning, he counted one-two-three, and the rope dropped
The race had begun.
The horses leapt forward at the sound of the whistle, and a roar rose up from the crowd. Some of the horses went immediately to the front of the pack, racing ahead of the others, while some fell behind, already outclassed. A few—including Pilar and Prince—stayed in the middle, waiting their turn at the horses in front. The ten of them thundered down the straight path, heading quickly for the first turn.
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Elizabeth stood as tall as she could, her eyes devouring the horses and riders. She’d seen Pilar move to the center of the pack, but couldn’t see her as they went around the first turn, and thought for one heart-stopping moment that the girl had fallen. But then, just as the riders came out of the turn, she saw the bright red of Pilar’s jacket. She was moving toward the front of the pack, and Prince was running easily.
“Go Pilar and Prince! That is my girl!” she shrieked, jumping up and down.
Jorge, sitting just to the side of her, shouted as well, and pumped his fist in the air.
The riders came around the second turn of the big loop, hugging the wooden fencing tight and holding their heads down, with their eyes slightly up to see the view. They continued down the straightaway, their horses thundering away at the track, and the riders jockeying for position amidst the pack. Elizabeth held her breath; they’d be at the final loop of the track, soon.
As they make their way around the far turn again, she saw some riders bumping each other, which caused a couple of horses to trip and go down. She cried out in shock. With the dust and commotion, she couldn’t see Pilar or Prince anymore, and thought for certain that the girl had been taken down in the ruckus. She strained her eyes, trying desperately to see, and then, once the dust settled, saw the red jacket again. There she was—still riding along, close to the front of the pack. She’d been well ahead of the horses who went down, and was still safe.
They were in second place, and running all out, at full speed. Pilar was covered in mud and dust, but she was crouched down over the saddle, secure in her place. Elizabeth could almost hear the girl talking to Prince, telling him that they were fine, and that they were going to win the race.
She glanced back at the rest of the pack and saw that there were only five horses in contention now. And Pilar was in second place. Without meaning to, she sucked in a quick breath. The chances of Pilar winning the race had just become much better.
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There was only one more turn, now, and they would be on the homestretch—the final straightaway, which ended in the finish line. Pilar grinned to herself and ducked closer to Prince’s neck. The straightaway was his favorite part of any race. If she asked for one final burst of speed at the right time, he would give it to her. And she had only one horse to catch. She’d ridden carefully, just as Jorge had taught her, and stayed out of the way when the horses bunched up. She even managed to get ahead of the ones who looked like they were in trouble. When the crash had happened behind her, she’d heard it, but hadn’t been in the way. And it must have taken several horses out of the race entirely.
Now she had only one left to beat. And with his last burst of speed on the homestretch, she thought Prince could do it. She’d been letting him run the race on his own, for the most part, taking advantage of his love for speed, and for beating other horses. They hit the final turn at an easy gallop, and as they came out of it, she pulled Prince alongside the other horse.
Then she yelled, “Ha!” and slapped him on the neck to ask for extra speed. She tightened the reins just a bit, indicating to him that he should take the bit and run all out with it, and felt him instantly respond. She’d thought they were fast before, but now they were a bullet across the landscape—the wind across the prairie, and the jackrabbit before an enemy. They were flying.
The other horse never had a chance.
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