Cottontown wanted to laugh, but it was too tired. It merely grinned and nudged one another. For Travis had given a half holiday and all Cottontown was there. The old man's outfit brought out the greatest laughter. The cart was a big cheap thing, new and brightly repainted, and it rattled frightfully. The harness was a combination--the saddle was made of soft sheep skin, the wool next to the horse, as were also the head-stall of the bridle, the breast-strap and the breeching. The rest of it was undressed leather, and the old man had evidently made it himself. But Ben Butler--never had he looked so fine. Blind, cat-hammed and pacing along,--but his sides were slick and hard, his quarters rubber. The old man had not been training him on the sandy stretches of Sand Mountain for nothing. A man with half an eye could have seen it, but the funny people in the grand-stand saw only the harness, and the blind sunken eyes of the old horse. So they shouted and cat-called and jeered. The outfit ambled up to the starting judge, and the old driver handed him fifty dollars. The starter laughed as he recovered himself, and winking at the others, asked: "What's this for, old man?" "Oh, jes' thought I'd j'ine in--" smiling. "Why, you can't do it. What's your authority?" The Bishop ran his hand in his pocket, while Bud held Ben Butler's head and kept saying with comical seriousness: "Whoa--whoa, sah!" Pending it all, and seeing that more talk was coming, Ben Butler promptly went to sleep. Finally the old man brought out a faded poster. It was Travis's challenge and conditions. "Jes' read it," said the old driver, "an' see if I ain't under the conditions." The starting judge read: "_Open to the Tennessee Valley--trot or pace. Parties entering, other than the match makers, to pay fifty dollars at the wire._" "Phew!" said the starting judge, as he scratched his head. Then he stroked his chin and re-read the conditions, looking humorously down over his glasses at the queer combination before him. The audience took it in and began to shout: "Let him in! Let him in! It's fair!" But others felt outraged and shouted back: "No--put him out! Put him out!" The starting judge clanged his bell again, and the other three starters came up. Flecker, good-natured and fat, his horse in a warming-up foam, laughed till he swayed in the sulky. Col. Troup, dignified and reserved, said nothing. But Travis swore. "It's preposterous!--it will make the race a farce. We're out for blood and that purse. This is no comedy," he said. The old man only smiled and said: "I'm sorry to spile the sport of gentlemen, but bein' gentlemen, I know they will stan' by their own rules." "It's here in black and white, Travis," said the starter, "You made it yourself." "Oh, hell," said Travis hotly, "that was mere form and to satisfy the Valley. I thought the entrance fee would bar any outsider." "But it didn't," said the Judge, "and you know the rules."