We were locked in a pushing crowd before I could turn.
The intruder lay stunned a moment. Then he rose, bare headed, his
back covered with dust, pushed his way out and ran.
Ab turned quietly to the range.
'Hedn't orter t' come an' try t' dew my aimin',' he said mildly, by
way of protest, 'I won't hev it.'
Then he enquired about the score and calmly took aim again. The
stallion show came on that afternoon.
'They can't never beat thet hoss,' Uncle Eb had said to me.
''Fraid they will,' I answered. 'They're better hitched for one thing.'
'But they hain't got the ginger in 'em,' said he, 'er the git up 'n git. If
we can show what's in him the Hawk'll beat 'em easy.'
If we won I was to get the prize but I had small hope of winning.
When I saw one after another prance out, in sparkling silver
harness adorned with rosettes of ribbon - light stepping, beautiful
creatures all of them - I could see nothing but defeat for us. Indeed
I could see we had been too confident. I dreaded the moment when
Uncle Eb should drive down with Black Hawk in a plain leather
harness, drawing a plainer buggy.
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