were outdistanced at the start. Redhead led, with a black-haired young
man at his shoulder, and it was plain that the race lay between these
two. Halfway around, the black-haired one took the lead in a spurt
that was intended to last to the finish. Ten feet he gained, nor could
Red-head cut it down an inch.

"The boy's a streak," Billy commented. "He ain't tryin' his hardest, an'
Red-head's just bustin' himself."

Still ten feet in the lead, the black-haired one breasted the tape in a
hubbub of cheers. Yet yells of disapproval could be distinguished. Bert
hugged himself with joy.

"Mm-mm," he gloated. "Ain't Frisco sore? Watch out for fireworks now.
See! He's bein' challenged. The judges ain't payin' him the money. An'
he's got a gang behind him. Oh! Oh! Oh! Ain't had so much fun since my
old woman broke her leg!"

"Why don't they pay him, Billy?" Saxon asked. "He won."

"The Frisco bunch is challengin' him for a professional," Billy
elucidated. "That's what they're all beefin' about. But it ain't right.
They all ran for that money, so they're all professional."

The crowd surged and argued and roared in front of the judges' stand.
The stand was a rickety, two-story affair, the second story open at the
front, and here the judges could be seen debating as heatedly as the
crowd beneath them.

"There she starts!" Bert cried. "Oh, you rough-house!"

The black-haired racer, backed by a dozen supporters, was climbing the
outside stairs to the judges.

"The purse-holder's his friend," Billy said. "See, he's paid him, an'
some of the judges is willin' an' some are beefin'. An' now that
other gang's going up--they're Redhead's." He turned to Saxon with a
reassuring smile. "We're well out of it this time. There's goin' to be
rough stuff down there in a minute."

"The judges are tryin' to make him give the money back," Bert explained.
"An' if he don't the other gang'll take it away from him. See! They're
reachin' for it now."

High above his head, the winner held the roll of paper containing the
twenty-five silver dollars. His gang, around him, was shouldering back
those who tried to seize the money. No blows had been struck yet, but
the struggle increased until the frail structure shook and swayed. From
the crowd beneath the winner was variously addressed: "Give it back, you
dog!" "Hang on to it, Tim!" "You won fair, Timmy!" "Give it back, you
dirty robber!" Abuse unprintable as well as friendly advice was hurled
at