to see the finish of a race. And the occasion
of his arrival, for all the gaiety, was one of dignity and importance.
If Bostil reveled in anything it was in an hour like this. His
liberality made this event a great race-day. The thoroughbreds were all
there, blanketed, in charge of watchful riders. In the center of the
brow of this long bench lay a huge, flat rock which had been Bostil's
seat in the watching of many a race. Here were assembled his neighbors
and visitors actively interested in the races, and also the important
Indians of both tribes, all waiting for him.

As Bostil dismounted, throwing the bridle to a rider, he saw a face
that suddenly froze the thrilling delight of the moment. A tall, gaunt
man with cavernous black eyes and huge, drooping black mustache fronted
him and seemed waiting. Cordts! Bostil had forgotten. Instinctively
Bostil stood on guard. For years he had prepared himself for the moment
when he would come face to face with this noted horse-thief.

"Bostil, how are you?" said Cordts. He appeared pleasant, and certainly
grateful for being permitted to come there. From his left hand hung a
belt containing two heavy guns.

"Hello, Cordts," replied Bostil, slowly unbending. Then he met the
other's proffered hand.

"I've bet heavy on the King," said Cordts.

For the moment there could have been no other way to Bostil's good
graces, and this remark made the gruff old rider's hard face relax.

"Wal, I was hopin' you'd back some other hoss, so I could take your
money," replied Bostil.

Cordts held out the belt and guns to Bostil. "I want to enjoy this
race," he said, with a smile that somehow hinted of the years he had
packed those guns day and night.

"Cordts, I don't want to take your guns," replied Bostil, bluntly.
"I've taken your word an' that's enough."

"Thanks, Bostil. All the same, as I'm your guest I won't pack them,"
returned Cordts, and he hung the belt on the horn of Bostil's saddle.
"Some of my men are with me. They were all right till they got outside
of Brackton's whisky. But now I won't answer for them."

"Wal, you're square to say thet," replied Bostil. "An' I'll run this
race an' answer for everybody."

Bostil recognized Hutchinson and Dick Sears, but the others of Cordts's
gang he did not know. They were a hard-looking lot. Hutchinson was a
spare, stoop-shouldered, red-faced, squinty-eyed rider, branded all
over with the marks of a bad man. And Dick Sears looked his