Skeeter persistently danced sidewise, fighting the bit, crazy to run.
Skeeter made two false starts, and when the pistol was fired, jumped high into the air and forward, shaking his head, impatient against the restraint his rider put upon him.

Halfway down the stretch he lunged sidewise toward Smoky, but that level-headed little horse swerved and went on, shoulder to shoulder with the other.

At the very last Skeeter rolled a pebble under his foot and stumbled--and again Smoky came in with his slaty nose in the lead.
Pop rode into the centre of the yelling crowd, his whiskers bristling.
"Shucks almighty!" he cried.

"What fer ridin' do yuh call that there?
Jeff Hall, that feller held Skeeter in worse'n what you did yourself! I kin prove it! I got a stop watch, an' I timed 'im, I did.

An' I kin tell yuh the time yore horse made when he run agin Dave's Boise.