--second, an' third.
How about thet for the races?"

Everybody agreed, and Bostil laboriously wrote that down. Then they
planned the details. Purses and prizes, largely donated by Bostil and
Muncie, the rich members of the community, were recorded. The old rules
were adhered to. Any rider or any Indian could enter any horse in any
race, or as many horses as he liked in as many races. But by winning
one race he excluded himself from the others. Bostil argued for a
certain weight in riders, but the others ruled out this suggestion.
Special races were arranged for the Indians, with saddles, bridles,
blankets, guns as prizes.

All this appeared of absorbing interest to Bostil. He perspired freely.
There was a gleam in his eye, betraying excitement. When it came to
arranging the details of the big race between the high-class racers,
then he grew intense and harder to deal with. Many points had to go by
vote. Muncie and Williams both had fleet horses to enter in this race;
Holley had one; Creech had two; there were sure to be several Indians
enter fast mustangs; and Bostil had the King and four others to choose
from. Bostil held out stubbornly for a long race. It was well known
that Sage King was unbeatable in a long race. If there were any chance
to beat him it must be at short distance. The vote went against Bostil,
much to his chagrin, and the great race was set down for two miles.

"But two miles! ... Two miles!" he kept repeating. "Thet's Blue Roan's
distance. Thet's his distance. An' it ain't fair to the King!"

His guests, excepting Creech, argued with him, explained, reasoned,
showed him that it was fair to all concerned. Bostil finally
acquiesced, but he was not happy. The plain fact was that he was
frightened.

When the men were departing Bostil called Creech back into the
sitting-room. Creech appeared surprised, yet it was evident that he
would have been glad to make friends with Bostil.

"What'll you take for the roan?" Bostil asked, tersely,' as if he had
never asked that before.

"Bostil, didn't we thresh thet out before--an' FELL out over it?"
queried Creech, with a deprecating spread of his hands.

"Wal, we can fall in again, if you'll sell or trade the hoss."

"I'm sorry, but I can't."

"You need money an' hosses, don't you?" demanded Bostil, brutally. He
had no conscience in a matter of horse-dealing.

"Lord knows, I do," replied Creech.

"Wal, then, here's your chance. I'll give you five hund