A Frontier Doctor Page: 170

                                
A FRONTIER DOCTOR

cluded that he was a runner. One day I learned he had
received a draft for seventy-five dollars and hoped he
might call on me, but he did not. Meeting him with some
friends I reminded him of his remittance and said that I
had often heard of his prowess on the track, winding up
with a challenge to run against him one hundred and
fifty yards, the stakes to be a receipted bill from me for
seventy-five dollars and his draft for a similar amount.
He accepted with alacrity.
Although I had then been in Bernalillo for some time, I
had never divulged to any one that I had ever had any
experience as a sprinter and of course I was not in train-
ing. But as I had a feeling that my bill would never be
paid in the regular way anyhow, I did not stand to lose
very much.
The race was to be run right in the street. The distance
was paced off and staked, judges were selected, the
purse deposited in Landlord Messick's hands, we toed
the mark, the pistol cracked, and away we went. I had
always been quick on the start and before we ran ten
paces I was perfectly confident I would win.
We ran even for one hundred yards, during which I was
never pressed for a moment. With the idea that my op-
ponent also might have some reserve power, I decided to
run the rest of the way and as I passed him I yelled, for
the benefit of the natives, 'Adios, Jorge' (good-bye,
George), and easily beat him at least ten feet. I can't im-
agine where Lewis got the idea that he could run. I have
rarely had an easier man to beat. Any sprinter will
realize that when he reads that I did any talking along
the way.
I was awaiting the arrival of the southbound train at
Bernalillo one afternoon in company with two local
merchants, Schuster and Bibo by name, and as the Pull-

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