"Saddle up for the Overhaul Handicap!" was at last sung out, and Dad,
saddle on arm, advanced to where Dave was walking Bess about. They saddled
up and Dave mounted, looking as pale as death.

"I don't like ridin' in these boots a bit," he said, with a quiver in
his voice.

"Wot's up with 'em?" Dad asked.

"They're too big altogether."

"Well, take 'em off then!"

Dave jumped down and pulled them off-leaving his socks on.

More than a dozen horses went out, and when the starter said "Off!"
did n't they go! Our eyes at once followed Bess. Dave was at her right
from the jump--the very opposite to what Dad had told him. In the first
furlong she put fully twenty yards of daylight between herself and the
field--she came after the field. At the back of the course you could see
the whole of Kyle's selection and two of Jerry Keefe's hay-stacks between
her and the others. We did n't follow her any further.

After the race was won and they had cheered the winner, Dad was n't to be
found anywhere.

Dave sat on the grass quite exhausted. "Ain't y' goin' to pull the saddle
off?" Joe asked.

"No," he said. "I AIN'T. You don't want everyone to see her back,