“That’s Widow Briggs’s homestead; isn’t it?” he said, just before he started.
I told him it was, and asked if he ever lived down our way. He laughed, and said he knew something about every place; and then he set the wheel a-going. Mrar held tight to me, and I braced my heels against the front round of the sled. The fence corners went faster and faster, and the wind whistled through our ears, while you could not see one dry blade in the fodder shocks move.
“Ain’t he a Whizzer?” says I to Mrar.
We turned another jog, and the spokes in the wheel looked all smeared together. It did beat horse-racing. I got excited, and hollered for him to “Go it, old Whizzer!” and he went it till we’s past cousin Andy Sanders’s before I knew the place was nigh.
“Cast loose, now, Mister, we’re much obliged,” says I.
But he kept right on like he never heard me. So I yelled up louder and told him we’s there, and he turned around his head a minute, and laughed.
“Please let go, Mister,” I says. “That’s cousin Andy Sanders’s away back there. We’re obliged, but we’ll have to go back.”
The Whizzer never let on. He whizzed ahead as fast as ever. I thought it was a mean trick for him to play on Mrar, and wished I could trip up his wheel. It would be dark long before I got her back to cousin Andy Sanders’s; and the Whizzer whizzed ahead like he was running off with us.
I had a notion to cut the rope, but there was no telling when I’d get another, and it was new. I made up my mind to do it, though, when we come along by our old place; but there the Whizzer turned round and jumped off in the road.
I picked up the end of my rope, and shook my head, because I was mad.