This was the touch of spark to powder. The boy thrust his hand deep into his pocket, brought it forth and opened it, then stepped quickly forward: "I'll bet you a nickel--an' here it is--that Daniel an' I can beat you to the pike an' back!" "Keep 'way! Keep 'way, son!" the old man hastily warned. "Keep 'way from his heah whirlwind!" Bip backed slowly off. He understood the uncertainties of this location, and carefully watched the mule's anticipative ears which were symbols of treachery. "Git on 'way, now," Zack again warned. "I'se gwine heist up de saddle!" "He can't kick me over here," the boy said. "Don' you believe no sich a-thing," the negro emphatically exclaimed. "De op'rashions of dis heah telescope extends to jest whar you happen to be standin'--no moh, an' no less. All he wants to know is yoh ad-dress, an' he'll pop you suah!" "Then I'm as safe here as I would be at home," came the logical retort. Zack stopped what he was about to do and stood with a broad grin on his face. Slowly he looked from the sturdy little youngster to the mule, and at last back again. "De onlies' diff'ence is," he scratched his head, "dat ef you cross de road now, mebbe you kin do it lak a li'l gemmen; but ef you keep on foolin' 'roun' dis mule's back-doh, you'se apt to git heisted crost lak a jay-bird. It's mighty good sense to press yoh luck as fur's it'll go, honey, but a oudacious sin to set right out to bust it. An' 'member what ole Zack say 'bout dat, 'caze it mought do you a heap of good some day!" Zack's saddle was finally tied on with a piece of clothesline and, putting his foot in a rope stirrup, he mounted. "Now I'se gwine arter dat nickel," he declared. "Scramble up on yoh dumplin' an' come 'long! Li'l Mesmie," he looked down at the girl, "you stan' right dar an' squint yoh eyes good, an' you'll see de hottes' Kentucky Derby ever run!" Bip led his pony to the horseblock, and by much squirming managed to wriggle on; then trotted over to Uncle Zack. "We're ready," he cried, his face alight with excitement. "How much start'll you give me?" "Staht! I ain' gwine give you _no_ staht! You'se wuss'n a gal!" "Why ain' you gwine give him no staht?" an indignant voice called, and, turning, he beheld Aunt Timmie leaning against the house complacently regarding them. "Of course you'll give him a start!" the Colonel thundered, thereby showing to what extent he had been reading during the past half hour. "It wouldn't be sporty not to give him a start, Uncle Zack," came still another voice, this time from the shrubbery where Brent, returning from a dabble at his work, had halted in the keenest amusement.