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Betty Zane-Part8_Zane Gray(1872-1939)_English Literature(文学名著)-第2页

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found. The worse the road, the more ditches, bogs, trees, stumps, brush, in

fact, the more obstacles of every kind, the better, as all these afforded



opportunity for daring and expert horsemanship. The English fox race, now

famous on three continents, while it involves risk and is sometimes dangerous,



cannot, in the sense of hazard to life and limb, be compared to this race for

the bottle.



On this day the run was not less exciting than usual. The horses were placed

as nearly abreast as possible and the starter gave an Indian yell. Then



followed the cracking of whips, the furious pounding of heavy hoofs, the

commands of the contestants, and the yells of the onlookers. Away they went at



a mad pace down the road. The course extended a mile straight away down the

creek bottom. The first hundred yards the horses were bunched. At the ditch



beyond the creek bridge a beautiful, clean limbed animal darted from among the

furiously galloping horses and sailed over the deep furrow like a bird. All



recognized the rider as Alfred Clarke on his black thoroughbred. Close behind

was George Martin mounted on a large roan of powerful frame and long stride.



Through the willows they dashed, over logs and brush heaps, up the little

ridges of rising ground, and down the shallow gullies, unheeding the stinging



branches and the splashing water. Half the distance covered and Alfred turned,

to find the roan close behind. On a level road he would have laughed at the



attempt of that horse to keep up with his racer, but he was beginning to fear

that the strong limbed stallion deserved his reputation. Directly before them



rose a pile of logs and matted brush, placed there by the daredevil settlers

who had mapped out the route. It was too high for any horse to be put at. With



pale cheek and clinched teeth Alfred touched the spurs to Roger and then threw

himself forward. The gallant beast responded nobly. Up, up, up he rose,



clearing all but the topmost branches. Alfred turned again and saw the giant

roan make the leap without touching a twig. The next instant Roger went splash



into a swamp. 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. With friendly

shouts to Clarke, they acknowledged themselves beaten. There were no judges



required for this race, because the man who reached the bottle first won it.

The five men returned to the starting point, where the victor was greeted by



loud whoops. The groom got the first drink from the bottle, then came the

attendants, and others in order, after which the bottle was put away to be



kept as a memento of the occasion.

The party now repaired to the village and marched to the home of the bride.



The hour for the observance of the marriage rites was just before the midday

meal. When the groom reached the bride's home he found her in readiness. Sweet



and pretty Alice looked in her gray linsey gown, perfectly plain and simple

though it was, without an ornament or a ribbon. Proud indeed looked her lover



as he took her hand and led her up to the waitingminister. When the

whisperings had ceased the minister asked who gave this woman to be married.



Alice's father answered.

"Will you take this woman to be your wedded wife, to love, cherish and protect



her all the days of her life?" asked the minister.

"I will," answered a deep bass voice.



"Will you take this man to be your wedded husband, to love, honor and obey him

all the days of your life?"



"I will," said Alice, in a low tone.

"I pronounce you man and wife. Those whom God has joined together let no man



put asunder."

There was a brief prayer and the ceremony ended. Then followed the



congratulations of relatives and friends. The felicitations were apt to be

trying to the nerves of even the best tempered groom. The hand shakes, the



heavy slaps on the back, and the pommeling he received at the hands of his

intimate friends were as nothing compared to the anguish of mind he endured



while they were kissing his wife. The young bucks would not have considered it

a real wedding had they been prevented from kissing the bride, and for that



matter, every girl within reach. So fast as the burly young settlers could




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