"You take them down the road half a mile, Bill," said Hank Brodie, "and start by that big boulder in the bend of the road. You can start them with your gun. Joe and I will stay here at the scratch and watch the finish. We will be the judges."
All the cow-punchers were lined up beside the wagon trail, eager to see the race for hitherto the Jack Rabbit had always been successful in short races.
Almost before they knew it the crack of Bill's .45 rang out on the evening air and the race was on.
"How did they start, Joe?" asked Mr. Brodie after about ten seconds. Joe was watching through the field glass.
"The Rabbit got off like a rocket and he is now leading by four lengths and the rest of them are strung out, Patches bringing up the rear."
Joe reported again at the quarter, "They are coming jest about the same, perhaps the others have pulled up a little on the Jack Rabbit, but Patches is still behind."
At three-eighths the relative positions of the horses had not changed but the Jack Rabbit was now leading by only two lengths.
When they were about a hundred yards away Hank Brodie made a funnel of his hands and shouted to Larry and his voice rang out like the crack of a rifle.
"Give him the quirt, boy, give him the quirt."
Larry let the quirt fall, once, twice, and Patches
