ng
up.

The starting-judge was about to clang again--this time more
positively--when there appeared at the draw-gate a new comer, the
sight of whose horse and appointments set the grand-stand into a wild
roar of mingled laughter and applause.

As he drove demurely on the track, he lifted quaintly and stiffly his
old hat and smiled.

He was followed by the village blacksmith, whose very looks told that
they meant business and were out for blood. The audience did not like
the looks of this blacksmith--he was too stern for the fun they were
having. But they recognized the shambling creature who followed him
as Bud Billings, and they shouted with laughter when they saw he had
a sponge and bucket!

"Bud Billings a swipe!"

Cottontown wanted to laugh, but it was too tired. It merely grinned
and nudged one another. For Travis had given a half holiday and all
Cottontown was there.

The old man's outfit brought out the greatest laughter. The cart was
a big cheap thing, new and brightly repainted, and it rattled
frightfully. The harness was a combination--the saddle was made of
soft sheep skin, the wool next to the horse, as were also the
head-stall of the bridle, the breast-strap and the breeching. The
rest of it was undressed leather, and the old man had evidently made
it himself.

But Ben Butler--never had he looked so fine. Blind, cat-hammed and
pacing along,--but his sides were slick and hard, his quarters
rubber.

The old man had not been training him on the sandy stretches of Sand
Mountain for nothing.

A man with half an eye could have seen it, but the funny people in
the grand-stand saw only the harness, and the blind sunken eyes of
the old horse. So they shouted and cat-called and jeered. The outfit
ambled up to the starting judge, and the old driver handed him fifty
dollars.

The starter laughed as he recovered himself, and winking at the
others, asked:

"What's this for, old man?"

"Oh, jes' thought I'd j'ine in--" smiling.

"Why, you can't do it. What's your authority?"

The Bishop ran his hand in his pocket, while Bud held Ben Butler's
head and kept saying with comical seriousness: "Whoa--whoa, sah!"

Pending it all, and seeing that more talk was coming, Ben Butler
promptly went to sleep. Finally the old man brought out a faded
poster. It was Travis's challenge and conditions.

"Jes' read it," said the old driver, "an' see if I ain't under the
conditions."

The starting judge read: "_Open