As the wagons lined up, Ashton dropped in behind them, on his sorrel mule. It wouldn’t be safe to be ahead of those thirty fidgeting mules and five heavy wagons! So he pulled up about five yards behind the line and raised his revolver. The five waiting racers just filled the track, from fence to fence, Ashton noted. Possibly each driver had six feet leeway to each side--but that was nothing for experienced skinners, barring accident. A rodeo official, in the judges’ stand, nodded. Ashton pulled the trigger: “Bang!” At the shot the five drivers whooped and whirled their whips, careful to avoid each other, and the race was on. The mule teams, as Neeson had said, were very evenly matched. Where one driver had a pair of light, fast leaders, another had a faster team of wheelers, but no hitch could be faster than its slowest team, and each driver was burdened with certain animals that handicapped him. The result was that the five swept down the track in almost perfect alignment. Dwyer, on the inside, with the advantage, had his leaders a head to the front, and that was all. The excitement was tremendous. Cheers and whoops rocked the grand stand. McCarthy grinned happily as he leaned over the rail and sniffed the dust kicked up by the start. His grin left his face suddenly when he saw through the settling dust a sight that made his heart jump! The big boss, Ashton, was in trouble. The sorrel mule wanted to race, too; it had taken the bit in its capable teeth and bolted, along with the rest. It was trailing Morgan’s wagon now, threatening, it seemed to McCarthy, to run into the wagon at every great jump it took. Ashton was helpless to stop it. Morgan, on his part, was unaware of Ashton’s danger. Morgan, bent on winning the race, was bawling at his swing team, Satan and Tar Baby, who were tying up his hitch for him. The leaders, Imp and Blackie, were stretching forward, eager to go, the wheelers, hardly larger than the rest of the hitch, were equally as anxious to run, but the swing team was shirking. The wheelers were on the swing’s heels, and that would never do--so Morgan yelled and sent his whip whining out over the glistening backs. Meantime the big sorrel, with Ashton, was bumping the wagon tail. Then, as McCarthy and others who had seen the freight owner’s plight, held their breaths, the big sorrel saw an opening and made a dash between Neeson’s wagon and Morgan’s. Neeson looked down to see his boss go flying past, face white, jaws set, eyes staring. Neeson, with an oath, jerked his animals slightly to the left to give the sorrel more room; Morgan, watching his swing team, didn’t see Ashton until the big boss and the sorrel were even with his swing team. They were even only a moment, for the big sorrel galloped ahead the next instant, gaining a position out in front of the five teams.