Evidently he had been doing a good deal of thinking during
the ride; certainly he had watched Smoky. When he stopped
under the bank opposite the half-mile post he dismounted more
spryly than one would have expected. His eyes were bright,
his voice sharp. Pop was forgetting his age.
"I guess I'll ride yore horse m'self," he announced, and they
exchanged horses under the shelter of the bank. "You kin take
an' ride Boise-an' I want you should beat me if you kin." He
looked at Bud appraisingly. "I'll bet a dollar," he cried
suddenly, "that I kin outrun ye, young feller! An' you got
the fastest horse in Burroback Valley and I don't know what I
got under me. I'm seventy years old come September--when I'm
afoot. Are ye afraid to bet?"
"I'm scared a dollar's worth that I'll never see you again
to-day unless I ride back to find you," Bud grinned.
"Any time you lose ole Pop Truman--shucks almighty! Come on,
then--I'll show ye the way to the quarter-post!"
"I'm right with you, Pop. You say so, and I'm gone!"
They reined in with the shadow of the post falling square
across the necks of both horses. Pop gathered up the reins,
set his feet in the stirrups and shrilled, "Go, gol darn ye!"
They went, like two scared rabbits down the smooth, yellow
stretch of packed sand.
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