Pop's elbows stuck straight out, he
held the reins high and leaned far over Smoky's neck, his
eyes glaring. Bud--oh, never worry about Bud! In the years
that lay between thirteen and twenty-one Bud had learned a
good many things, and one of them was how to get out of a
horse all the speed there was in him.
They went past the quarter-post and a furlong beyond before
either could pull up. Pop was pale and triumphant, and
breathing harder than his mount.
"Here 's your dollar, Pop--and don't you talk in your sleep!"
Bud admonished, smiling as he held out the dollar, but with
an anxious tone in his voice. "If this is the best running
horse you've got in the valley, I may get some action, next
Sunday!"
Pop dismounted, took the dollar with a grin and mounted
Boise--and that in spite of the fact that Boise was keyed up
and stepping around and snorting for another race. Bud
watched Pop queerly, remembering how feeble had been the old
man whom he had met at the corral.
"Say, Pop, you ought to race a little every day," he
bantered. "You're fifteen years younger than you were an hour
ago."
For answer Pop felt of his back and groaned. "Oh, I'll pay
fer it, young feller! I don't look fer much peace with my
back fer a week, after this. But you kin make sure of one
thing, and that is, I ain't goin' to talk in my sleep none.
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