Free The Last Horseman by David Gilman Page B

tears that streamed from the cold, Edward saw that Belmont barely flinched. He let the man strike twice more, then, allowing him to raise his arm a third time, Belmont snatched the whip before it struck again. He laid its grip across the man’s face in a wicked slash that yielded a scream of pain as the man’s cheek was split open. Unable to control the horse he veered away.
    Those riders had slowed Belmont’s progress. Edward lengthened his horse’s stride. They were at the farm turn where the surviving riders would want to be the first through the open gate. The horse gathered pace. Edward knew his father’s horse had not yet reached its full stride. He was closing in on Belmont, watching as he let his second attacker move slightly ahead. The cavalryman leaned in the saddle and reached down, his hand slipping beneath the saddle flap. His fingers found the slide bar that held the stirrup leather and a moment later the straps had fallen free and the man’s unbalanced weight nearly threw him from the horse. His skill kept him in the saddle a moment longer but the vicious beating he took from Belmont’s whip couldn’t be avoided. He fell from the horse.
    Belmont’s horse’s rear hooves nearly took the man’s head off as he tumbled on the ground, arms thrown across his face. Edward sucked in the cold air, felt the raw bite in his lungs. Fear and excitement surged through him. He was fifteen feet to one side of Belmont. And then they were level.
    *
    Pierce and Radcliffe clambered on to rising ground. Breathless, they both held binoculars to their eyes.
    ‘Five riders in the front! Where is he?’ Radcliffe gasped. The exertion to get to the vantage point caused their hands to tremble: both men calmed their breathing and kept track of the distant specks that were the horsemen.
    ‘There he is! See him? They’re heading for the farm. He’s level with Belmont!’ Pierce said.
    Radcliffe concentrated on the distant figure of his son. ‘No... He’s taken the lead.’
    ‘I’ll be damned, said Pierce, ‘he can win this thing.’
    And then the riders disappeared from view.
    But Radcliffe’s attention was elsewhere. He watched the perspiring man in the bowler hat clamber out of the cab and bend into the hillside as he scrambled up to reach him.
    *
    Edward had gained a horse’s length on Belmont, but he could sense the cavalryman’s horse was likely to out-pace even his father’s strong hunter. Out of the corner of his eye he could see the snorting beast was drawing level, its pounding hooves tearing up the ground. Belmont’s shirt was flecked with blood and, like Edward, tears smeared his cheeks.
    Edward was determined to keep his line. Three hundred yards ahead stone walls, six feet high, barred their way, but it was the open gate they wanted.
    Belmont yelled something at him. Edward turned his head slightly, wanting to hear.
    ‘All right, boy! ALL RIGHT!’ Belmont cried, a smile creasing his face, loving the madness of it all. Wanting the boy to be in contention.
    He whipped his horse and then barged into Edward. A hard swerve that might have knocked a heavier man free of stirrup and saddle. But Edward was half-raised, beautifully balanced, arms pumping, giving his horse its rhythm. He was lighter and more agile than the other riders and it was Belmont whose body swayed, causing his horse to fall back a pace or two, and veer a couple of feet away.
    The gate. Edward needed the open gate. With a hundred yards to go he saw that it was closed. They’d failed to open it. The five cross-bar struts denying him the chance to block Belmont and pull further ahead. His brief hesitation communicated itself to the horse, which momentarily missed a beat in its stride. Belmont pulled level.
    ‘Come on, boy! Come on! Use your spurs! Come on!’ he spat. And then he was two strides ahead. And then three, the snap of the whip on his horse.
    Edward held his nerve, and eased the reins. The horse surged. Belmont had the line for