The next morning, at five o’clock, the Club, and Mr. Wilbur and all his herdsmen, were on the ground, and the arrangements for the race had all been completed. If Eugene had been about to ride for his life, he could not have made greater preparations. He had discarded his hat and boots, tied a handkerchief around his head to keep the hair out of his eyes, and rode in his shirt-sleeves, and without a saddle. Dick simply pulled off his hunting shirt, and tightened his belt.
“I want a flying start,” said Eugene.
“Well, I am sorry to say so, but you can’t have it,” answered Archie, who acted as master of ceremonies.
“Why, a man can get under way twice while a horse is getting started once,” said Eugene.
“That isn’t my fault, or the man’s either,” returned Archie. “It’s the horse’s.”
“Give him the flyin’ start,” said Dick Lewis.
Uncle Dick and Mr. Wilbur were surprised to hear this, and the latter told his companion in a whisper that the trapper must have the greatest confidence in his speed, or he would not be willing to give the horse so much of a chance.
Eugene rode back twenty yards from the starting-point, the trapper took his stand by his side, and when both were ready they moved off together, Archie giving the signal to “go” as they passed the starting-point. Before the word had fairly left his lips the trapper was flying down the course like an arrow from a bow. He succeeded in getting a fine start, but, after all, it was not so great as everybody thought it would be. Eugene was on the alert, and so was his horse. The animal made one or two slow bounds after he passed the starting-point, and then he settled down to his work, and went at the top of his speed, Eugene lying close along his neck, and digging his heels into his side at every jump. The horse came up with and passed the trapper just before the latter reached the end of the course, and remembering his training of the day before, made an effort to stop and wheel quickly; but so great was his speed that he went some distance farther on, and when he did face about, Eugene saw that it was too late to win the race. The fleet-footed trapper was half-way home; and although the horse quickly responded to his rider’s encouraging yells, Dick won the race very easily. The Club were satisfied now. One thing was certain, and that was, they had never dreamed that a human being was capable of such speed as the trapper had exhibited that morning.
“If he were not a good runner he wouldn’t be here now,” said Archie, in reply to their exclamations of wonder. “His lightness of foot has saved his scalp, I suppose, a score of times. He says he never was beaten.”
The boys did not doubt it at all. They were now prepared to accept without question anything that Frank and Archie might tell them concerning the trapper.