"Along comes a time when Sam is stacked up t' meet a corkin' good runner. An' Sam was off gallivantin' 'round at dances, an' worse things, an' not trainin' none whatever. An' Gallager says t' himself, 'Here's where I cure that Injun of th' twig habit.' You see, Sam was that soft from loafin', he couldn't have beat a mud turtle up a hill, so Gallager figgers Sam'll likely lose th' race, anyway, an' it'll be worth it t' get clear o' that infernal twig. So Gallager lets Sam stay soft. "Along comes th' day o' th' race, an' Gallager hadn't done nothin' or said nothin', an' Sam runs an' loses, an' after it's all over Gallager goes t' him. "'Got your twig?' he says. "'Uh,' grunts Sam. "'Stick it in th' other feller's footprints?' "'Uh.' "'Got it in your shirt?' "'Uh huh,' says Sam, an' pulls out th' twig. "'Well, you didn't win, did you?' says Gallager. "'Um, um,' says Sam, lookin' at th' twig. "'Then th' twig's no good, is it?' asks Gallager, lookin' Sam firmly in th' eye, an' Sam returnin' th' look. "'NO!' says Sam, an' he throws th' twig away." The cowpunchers did not believe this story. They did not think that an Indian can be cured of his medicine. But I know it is true, for I knew the Indian. It might not be amiss to state here that there is another Indian alive to-day, who was a baby in arms when Sam Sharp lived, who ran in and won thirty-eight Marathon races, when no one else in the world ever finished first, second, or third in over three. His name is Tom Longboat. CHAPTER XVII "THE PRIDE OF THE WEST" Whitey wandered over to the Star Circle Ranch house. He wanted to see Walt Lampson, who had paid little attention to him since the night of the fight. Whitey was getting tired of staying at the Star Circle, and thought Walt might be ready now to ship the cattle to the Bar O, and thus give Whitey something to do. Walt was not in the living-room, which was a large, untidy place that also served as an office. There was a great, flat desk in one corner, and lying on it--among some dusty papers, reports and stock books--was a six-gun, with its belt and holster, a silver watch, a knife, and other odds and ends. These were the property of poor Buck Milton, waiting till they were claimed, or would be disposed of. Whitey looked at them sadly. Near the watch lay a crumpled and soiled piece of paper, and as Whitey glanced at it his own name caught his eye. Surprised, he picked the paper up and read it through before he realized what it was--Bill Jordan's letter to Dan Brayton, of the T Up and Down, the letter Whitey had delivered. It ran: Friend Dan-- Whitey Sherwood, the kid what fetches this here letter, is tired uv school. He had ruther fish. This here letter is sposed to be on importunt business uv his dads, the owner uv this here ranch. The business is to make Whitey tireder out uv school than what he was in it. I started the ball rollin. Kin you keep it goin? Hopin this will find you the same