"The best man won," said Skinner, "and say--there's a parson at
Albuquerque." Then he groaned loudly, and fell to massaging his
foot.
There came a fluttering by his side, and Miss Blake's voice said
to him, with sweetness and with pity: "I'm so sorry you lost your
position, Mr. Skinner. You're a splendid runner!"
"Never mind the job, miss, I've got something to remember it by."
He pointed to a sash which lay beside him. "The loser gets the
ribbon, miss," he explained gallantly.
Off to the right there came a new outcry, and far across the
level prairie a strange sight was revealed to the beholders. A
fat man in white flannels was doubling and dodging ahead of two
horsemen, and even from a considerable distance it could plainly
be seen that he was behaving with remarkable agility for one so
heavy. Repeatedly his pursuers headed him off, but he rushed past
them, seemingly possessed by the blind sense of direction that
guides the homing pigeon or the salmon in its springtime run. He
was headed toward the east.
"Why, it's Larry!" ejaculated Speed.
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