"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.