There were fully two hundred spectators lined up to see the race. These were divided about evenly between the farmers and cattlemen.
The cowboys began betting on Lynn. Even Dan Spencer "hedged" and then doubled. The farmers picked on Mounce as the winner, and the price for their wheat and barley was accordingly up for all takers.
When all was in readiness, the horse-shoer and the legal servant clasped hands and bent well over, each with an extended foot on the line. At the crack of a revolver away they sped, running, side by side, like two ice-wagons drawn by oxen--but stampeded.
It must not be supposed this race was any "ten second" affair. The timekeeper needed no stop-watch. Any old-fashioned clock, with wooden wheels, could have kept track of the seconds that passed in that hundred yard dash. Some said that the affair reminded them of a geological description of the movement of the glaciers. In time the race was ended, however--the blacksmith winning by about two feet. Mounce was greeted with huzzas. Lynn was broken-hearted--got drunk immediately and was hauled home in a farmer's wagon.
This race was but a preliminary to greater things. It was simply a practice run compared with another sprinting contest between Mounce and Lynn, which took place some two weeks later--a contest still memorable in the annals of foot-racing in the Southwest.
Judge Lynn sent word to his cowboy backers that he was training nightly, and would put up the race of his life. While the judge was thus living in seclusion by day and practising by night, an evil report became noised about, that the judge had thrown the former race for the price of a gallon of whiskey. Few, however, believed the rumor.
Now, as the time for the second race drew near, interest became very great, and all the people interested in racing contests were on the tiptoe of expectation.
The place selected for the affair was in the valley, some two miles south of Meade, on the banks of the Manaroya. Here the sod had been removed and an ideal race-course made.
The day came on and was a perfect one. The valley lay like a basin, with its borders yellowed with countless sunflowers; a large drove of fatted cattle were peacefully grazing just below the racetrack, while the winding waters of the Manaroya cut the valley like a restless ribbon. Not less than two thousand people were present to witness the greatly advertised race. The interest may have been somewhat farcical with many, for, in truth, it could be little more, at best, than a "fat man's race."