The well-trained draft-horses bent low to the ground and strained with all their strength upon their harnesses. The great muscles on their shoulders and hips could be seen to writhe under their skins, while the evener squeaked with the strain. Dirt and turf flew beneath the hoofs of the four frantically straining horses.
Joie and Ali were swept off then* feet by the suddenness of the attack. They had not expected such a whirlwind beginning. So Joie was slowly, inch by inch, drawn backward about two feet, or one-fifth of the entire pull which was ten feet. The supporters of the horses who had gathered to see the great pull shouted themselves hoarse, and Ali grew desperate.
Then a bright idea came to Sahib Anderson. "Shout 'whoa' to him, Ali, shout 'whoa.'"
