Part 35 (2/2)
Tad smiled appreciatively.
”Don't let them disturb you,” warned Tom. ”They mean all right.”
”Yes, sir; I understand cowmen pretty well. Have spent quite a little time with them.”
”I guess they are getting ready for something.”
”Line up for the hurdle race!” shouted the ranch foreman, who was acting as master of ceremonies. ”Half mile down and back with a hurdle every quarter!”
”Here's where you see some real fun,” announced Mr. Jessup, nodding significantly to Tad and Tom Phipps. ”Are you boys going into this?”
”Guess we might as well. Will these ponies take hurdles, Mr.
Phipps?”
”You try them and see. Every one trained down to the ground.”
”That's not the way I want to go,” laughed Tad. ”I want to stay above it while I'm riding.”
Ned Rector already was tightening his saddle girths preparatory to entering, so Tad hurried to his own mount to get ready for the contest.
When the contestants had finally lined up, the Pony Rider Boys were surprised to observe that Stacy Brown had ridden down to the scratch with the others. He was sitting on his pony as solemn as an owl, industriously munching a sandwich that he had made for himself.
”You'll break your neck. You'd better keep out of this,” advised Ned Rector.
”Better look out for your own neck,” retorted Stacy. ”Guess I know how to ride as well as the rest of you.”
”All right, it's not my lookout. Remember I gave you good advice,”
was Ned's parting admonition.
Stacy's pony was a glossy black, the only one of that color among the contestants, and between pony and boy the cowmen were undecided as to which was the most conspicuous.
”At the second shot of the pistol you will start,” announced the foreman. ”All ready for the first?”
”Yes!” roared the impatient riders.
The foreman pulled the trigger and the ponies began to dance about.
Bang!
”Whoop-e-e-e!” yelled the riders, digging in the rowels of their spurs.
A dozen ponies fairly leaped into the air under the prod of spur and quirt. Away they dashed enveloped in a cloud of dust.
”They're off!” roared the crowd.
Stacy, still clinging to his sandwich, was well up with the leaders of the bunch when they got away. He was riding with elbows up to a level with his shoulders, one hand grasping reins and quirt, the other holding the sandwich to his mouth.
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