James didn't wait for any advice. He didn't know what he'd done, I
cal'late, but he jedged 'twas his move. He dropped his gun and put down
the shore like a wild man, with Lonesome after him. I tried to foller,
but my rheumatiz was too big a handicap; all I could do was yell.

You never'd have picked out Todd for a sprinter--not to look at him, you
wouldn't--but if he didn't beat the record for his class just then I'll
eat my sou'wester. He fairly flew, but Lonesome split tacks with him
every time, and kept to wind'ard, into the bargain. When they went out
of sight amongst the sand hills 'twas anybody's race.

I was scart. I knew what Lonesome's temper was, 'specially when it had
been iled with some Wellmouth Port no-license liquor. He'd been took up
once for half killing some boys that tormented him, and I figgered if
he got within pitchfork distance of the Todd critter he'd make him the
leakiest divine that ever picked a text. I commenced to hobble back
after my gun. It looked bad to me.

But I'd forgot sister Clarissa. 'Fore I'd limped fur I heard her calling
to me.

"Mr. Wingate," says she, "get in here at once."

There she was, setting on the seat of Lonesome's wagon, holdin' the
reins and as cool as a white frost in October.

"Get in at once," says she. I jedged 'twas good advice, and took it.

"Proceed," says she to the mare. "Git dap!" says I, and we started. When
we rounded the sand hill we see the race in the distance. Lonesome had