My, but it was fun! I would give a good deal to be in that race. How the boys did jump! Jim with his long legs and stride seemed to have the advantage at first, but when they struck the long sand slide Jo began to pull up on his brother. Even the scout who was watching the race from a distant tree became so interested that he lost his caution for a moment and came into view.
“I bet the little varmint beats the lanky guy,” he said to himself.
It seemed so, for half way down the slide the “little varmint” had crawled up even with Jim. They were going so fast that you could not see them for the haze, and the gravel and sand flew from before their feet like spray and they leaped fifteen to twenty feet at a stride. I tell you it was exciting work. Jo drew ahead and beat Jim about three feet, it was that close, and Tom “came tumbling after.”
“I get the prize,” cried Jo, as soon as he could get his breath.
“It’s a silver water pitcher,” said Juarez, giving him a big tin cup.
“Look out, here comes Jeems on the warpath,” cried Jim.
They looked up and sure enough there he came full tilt, his long hair streaming in the breeze and his lanky legs reaching out like they were endowed with the wonderful seven-league boots. Here was fun.
“He’s drunk!” cried Juarez.
“He is running away!” yelled Jim.
“Whoa, Mosquito, whoa!” screamed Jo and Tom in unison.