I took to the track like a Modoc on the war path.  Before I had gone a half-mile I was overtaken by “That Jim Peasley,” as he was called in Swan Creek, an incurable practical joker, loved and shunned by all who knew him.  He asked me as he came up if I were “going to the show.”  Thinking it was best to dissemble, I told him I was, but said nothing of my intention to stop the performance; I thought it would be a lesson to That Jim to let him walk fifteen miles for nothing, for it was clear that he was going, too.  Still, I wished he would go on ahead or drop behind.  But he could not very well do the former, and would not do the latter; so we trudged on together.  It was a cloudy day and very sultry for that time of the year.  The railway stretched away before us, between its double row of telegraph poles, in rigid sameness, terminating in a point at the horizon.  On either hand the disheartening monotony of the prairie was unbroken.

I thought little of these things, however, for my mental exaltation was proof against the depressing influence of the scene.  I was about to save the life of my friend—­to restore a crack shot to society.  Indeed I scarcely thought of That Jim, whose heels were grinding the hard gravel close behind me, except when he saw fit occasionally to propound the sententious, and I thought derisive, query, “Tired?” Of course I was, but I would have died rather than confess it.

We had gone in this way, about half the distance, probably, in much less than half the seven hours, and I was getting my second wind, when That Jim again broke the silence.

“Used to bounce in a circus, didn’t you?”

This was quite true! in a season of pecuniary depression I had once put my legs into my stomach—­had turned my athletic accomplishments to financial advantage.  It was not a pleasant topic, and I said nothing.  That Jim persisted.

“Wouldn’t like to do a feller a somersault now, eh?”

The mocking tongue of this jeer was intolerable; the fellow evidently considered me “done up,” so taking a short run I clapped my hands to my thighs and executed as pretty a flip-flap as ever was made without a springboard!  At the moment I came erect with my head still spinning, I felt That Jim crowd past me, giving me a twirl that almost sent me off the track.  A moment later he had dashed ahead at a tremendous pace, laughing derisively over his shoulder as if he had done a remarkably clever thing to gain the lead.

I was on the heels of him in less than ten minutes, though I must confess the fellow could walk amazingly.  In half an hour I had run past him, and at the end of the hour, such was my slashing gait, he was a mere black dot in my rear, and appeared to be sitting on one of the rails, thoroughly used up.