nies grazed everywhere, and a line of Indians
extended along the racecourse, where trials were being held. The
village was full of riders, horse-traders and hunters, and ranchers.
Work on the ranges had practically stopped for the time being, and in
another day or so every inhabitant of the country would be in Bostil's
Ford.

Bostil walked into the village, grimly conscious that the presence of
the Indians and riders and horses, the action and color and bustle, the
near approach of the great race-day--these things that in former years
had brought him keen delight and speculation--had somehow lost their
tang. He had changed. Something was wrong in him. But he must go among
these visitors and welcome them as of old; he who had always been the
life of these racing-days must be outwardly the same. And the task was
all the harder because of the pleasure shown by old friends among the
Indians and the riders at meeting him. Bostil knew he had been a
cunning horse-trader, but he had likewise been a good friend. Many were
the riders and Indians who owed much to him. So everywhere he was
hailed and besieged, until finally the old excitement of betting and
bantering took hold of him and he forgot his brooding.

Brackton's place, as always, was a headquarters for all visitors.
Macomber had just come in full of enthusiasm and pride over the horse
he had entered, and he had money to wager. Two Navajo chiefs, called by
white men Old Horse and Silver, were there for the first time in years.
They were ready to gamble horse against horse. Cal Blinn and his riders
of Durango had arrived; likewise Colson, Sticks, and Burthwait, old
friends and rivals of Bostil's.

For a while Brackton's was merry. There was some drinking and much
betting. It was characteristic of Bostil that he would give any odds
asked on the King in a race; and, furthermore, he would take any end of
wagers on other horses. As far as his own horses were concerned he bet
shrewdly, but in races where his horses did not figure he seemed to
find fun in the betting, whether or not he won.

The fact remained, however, that there were only two wagers against the
King, and both were put up by Indians. Macomber was betting on second
or third place for his horse in the big race. No odds of Bostil's
tempted him.

"Say, where's Wetherby?" rolled out Bostil. "He'll back his hoss."

"Wetherby's ridin' over to-morrow," replied Macomber. "But you gotta
bet him two to one."

"See