“A bear!” Mistah Mule brayed. “Run! Run!”
“Ho! Ho! Ho!” laughed Bright and Broad. “See him run! This is just a trick. He knows he can’t win the slow race fairly, so he’s trying to get us to run ahead of him.” They nodded wisely as they trudged towards the big pine tree, which marked the end of the race.
And then—all at once they sniffed, and asked each other a question: “Do you notice a queer scent?” And like one ox they both looked around.
“A bear!” they both roared. And breaking into a lumbering gallop, they hurried after Mistah Mule, who was already nearing the fence on the other side of the pasture.
Quite breathless they reached the fence at last. But they were too heavy and clumsy to jump over it, as Mistah Mule had already done. Instead, they crashed their huge bodies against the fence and sent the rails flying. Through the great gap that they had made they dashed side by side. And they never stopped running until they reached the barn at the foot of the lane.
Mistah Mule was waiting for them there.
“Somebody done win a race!” he brayed loudly.
Broad and Bright shot a glance of surprise at each other.
“But you ran much faster than we did!” they cried. “You can’t have won.”
“I isn’t said I winned it,” Mistah Mule retorted.