The course—it was a quarter-mile, straight-away—was laid out along the bottom-land where the grass was thick and short. Me and the chief and his girl set on a blanket among the little piles of silver, and the rest of the merry villagers lined up close to the finish-line. We white men had been the prime attraction up till now, but it didn't take me long to see that we wasn't any more. Them people was all wrapped up in the lad with the gold name-plate, and they was rootin' for him frantic. Last thing he done was to give his eighteen-carat squaw-catcher the once-over with his buckskin buffer, then he shined it at the chief's girl and trotted down to the startin'-line. I noticed that she glued her big-and-liquids on him and kept 'em there.
It was beautiful to watch those two men jockey for a start; the Injun was lean and hungry and mighty smart—but Mike was smarter still. Of course he got the jump.
It was a pretty start, and Mike held his lead for fifty yards or more. I'll admit I was worked up. I've had my heart in my mouth so often over his races that it's wore smooth from swallerin', but this time it just wouldn't go down. Our dental patient was runnin' an awful race, but it looked like Mike had him; then, just as the boy settled down and reached out into that long, strong stride of his'n, something happened. He slipped. He would have fell, except that he caught himself. The next second he slipped again, and Mr. "Man in Love with a Gold Fillin'" passed him.
With that them Injuns begun to speak. Some of their yells brought hunks of throat with 'em, and that whole region begun to echo as far south as the Rio Bravo.
My scheme had worked, all right. You see, when Mike was doin' his heavy courtin' I'd planted my ace in the hole; I'd took off the outer soles of his runnin'-shoes and filed the spikes almost in two, close up to the plate. When I sewed the leather back on, it never showed, but the minute he struck his gait they broke with him and he begin to miss his pull. He might have won at that, for he's got the heart of a lion, but I s'pose the surprise did as much as anything else to beat him. It made my heart bleed to see the fight he put up, but he finished six feet to the bad and fell across the mark on his face, sobbin' like a child. It's the game ones that cry when they're licked; analyze a smilin' loser and you'll find the yellow streak. I lifted him to his feet, but he was shakin' like a bush in the wind.
"Them shoes!" he wailed. "Them damned shoes!" Then he busted out again and blubbered like a kid.
Right then I done some actin'; but, pshaw! anybody can act when he has to. If I'd of overplayed my hand a nickel's worth he'd of clumb up me like a rat up a rafter and there would of been human reminders all over that neighborhood. Not but what I would have got him eventually, bein' as I had my side-arms, but I liked Mike and I wouldn't kill nobody if I was sober.
It happened that he fell right at the feet of the chief's girl, and when I lifted him up he seen her. But, say, it must have been a shock to him. Her eyes was half shut, her head was throwed back, and she was hissin' like a rattlesnake. Mike stiffened and sort of pawed at her, but she drawed away just like that other squaw in our dentist office had drawed away from her liege lord and master.
"Waugh! White man heap squaw!" said she, and with that she flirted her braids and turned to the winner of the race. She went up to him and lifted his lip with her thumb like she just had to have another look at his gold tooth, then she smiled up into his face and they walked away together without a glance in our direction.
Mike follered a step or two, then he stopped and stared around at the crowd. It was a big minute for him, and for me, too, and I'll prob'ly never forget the picture of that pantin' boy at bay among them grinnin' barbarians. The curs was yappin' at his heels, the squaws was gigglin' and makin' faces, the bucks was showin' their teeth and pointin' at his tears.