Bip backed slowly off. He understood the uncertainties of this location, and carefully watched the mule's anticipative ears which were symbols of treachery.
"Git on 'way, now," Zack again warned. "I'se gwine heist up de saddle!"
"He can't kick me over here," the boy said.
"Don' you believe no sich a-thing," the negro emphatically exclaimed. "De op'rashions of dis heah telescope extends to jest whar you happen to be standin'—no moh, an' no less. All he wants to know is yoh ad-dress, an' he'll pop you suah!"
"Then I'm as safe here as I would be at home," came the logical retort.
Zack stopped what he was about to do and stood with a broad grin on his face. Slowly he looked from the sturdy little youngster to the mule, and at last back again.
"De onlies' diff'ence is," he scratched his head, "dat ef you cross de road now, mebbe you kin do it lak a li'l gemmen; but ef you keep on foolin' 'roun' dis mule's back-doh, you'se apt to git heisted crost lak a jay-bird. It's mighty good sense to press yoh luck as fur's it'll go, honey, but a oudacious sin to set right out to bust it. An' 'member what ole Zack say 'bout dat, 'caze it mought do you a heap of good some day!"
Zack's saddle was finally tied on with a piece of clothesline and, putting his foot in a rope stirrup, he mounted.
"Now I'se gwine arter dat nickel," he declared. "Scramble up on yoh dumplin' an' come 'long! Li'l Mesmie," he looked down at the girl, "you stan' right dar an' squint yoh eyes good, an' you'll see de hottes' Kentucky Derby ever run!"
Bip led his pony to the horseblock, and by much squirming managed to wriggle on; then trotted over to Uncle Zack.