A race track, about a quarter of a mile stretch along the dusty road, was chosen. Dick Davis and Bill Peters were selected as starters. Dan Miller and Tick Johnson were the judges. Pat was elected stakeholder.
The first race was between Silver Bill, one of the blooded animals of the Morgan ranch, and Tex, Jim’s best saddle horse. The two cowboys, with saddles and with chaps on, jogged off to the starting place and began to play for a good start.
Suddenly they whirled and leaped together across the line towards the goal, the eager riders leaning low with quirts flying. Jim’s horse held an easy lead for nearly half the way, then he lost it, the longer-winded roan gradually slipping up and past him. When they dashed by the judges, Bud was full two rods ahead.
“You made me eat dirt square enough,” said Jim, jerking off his silver-mounted bridle and tossing it to Bud. “That’s a good horse you’ve got.”
“Yes, ’n he kin beat any cayuse in this hole,” boasted Bud.
“Got anything beside talk to stake on that?”
“My saddle ’gin yours.”
“Pull ’er off, and stack her here with mine.” Jim loosed the cinches as he spoke, jerked off his saddle and flung it over by Pat.
“Here, Teddy, get your little mare. Let’s take the cackle out of this crow.”
“All right, Jim, if you say so; but I don’t know what Brownie can do. I’ve never run a race with her.”