An' Gallager says t' himself, 'Here's where I cure that Injun of th' twig habit.' You see, Sam was that soft from loafin', he couldn't have beat a mud turtle up a hill, so Gallager figgers Sam'll likely lose th' race, anyway, an' it'll be worth it t' get clear o' that infernal twig.

So Gallager lets Sam stay soft.
"Along comes th' day o' th' race, an' Gallager hadn't done nothin' or said nothin', an' Sam runs an' loses, an' after it's all over Gallager goes t' him.
"'Got your twig ?' he says.
"'Uh,' grunts Sam.
"'Stick it in th' other feller's footprints ?' "'Uh.' "'Got it in your shirt ?' "'Uh huh,' says Sam, an' pulls out th' twig.
"'Well, you didn't win, did you ?' says Gallager.
"'Um, um,' says Sam, lookin' at th' twig.
"'Then th' twig's no good, is it ?' asks Gallager, lookin' Sam firmly in th' eye, an' Sam returnin' th' look.
"'NO!' says Sam, an' he throws th' twig away." The cowpunchers did not believe this story.

They did not think that an Indian can be cured of his medicine.

But I know it is true, for I knew the Indian.
It might not be amiss to state here that there is another Indian alive to-day, who was a baby in arms when Sam Sharp lived, who ran in and won thirty-eight Marathon races, when no one else in the world ever finished first, second, or third in over three.

His name is Tom Longboat..