r Circle KT will send a horse
into the big race that will beat that Thunderbolt critter of yours just
three times as bad as he set old Quicksilver back--and we'll give you
action on any amount of money, cattle or anything else you want to name!
You can put your friends here in on it too, if you want to--" with a
scornful glance around the pool-room at the loafers in the place. "Come
on, Skinny," he added as he started toward the door, "more than likely
Ophelia and Carolyn June are through with their trading and ready to go
home."

All stood silent until Skinny and Old Heck stepped out of the door,
then Mike Sabota broke into a coarse, taunting laugh. As they turned up
the street Old Heck and Skinny heard Dorsey and the crowd inside join in
the merriment.

"Damn that fool, Dorsey!" Old Heck exclaimed viciously, as he heard the
shouts of derisive laughter. "I'm going to wipe him out on that race--if
he's got the guts to come across and back up that Thunderbolt horse as
hard as he blows about him!"

"I think I'll hook Sabota for a few hundred on the sweepstakes, myself,"
Skinny replied with a good deal of feeling, "I don't like the way that
dirty cuss acts any better than I like Dorsey's bragging!"

Carolyn June and Ophelia were waiting when Old Heck and Skinny arrived
at the Golden Rule.

When the Clagstone "Six" whirled past the Amusement Parlor a few moments
later Dorsey and Sabota were standing in the door.

Carolyn June glanced at them.

"Heavens," she said as her eyes rested an instant on the burly,
low-browed, Greek proprietor of the place, "what a big brute of a
looking fellow that is!"

The two men stared insolently at the occupants of the car and as it
passed Sabota made some remark, evidently vulgar, that caused Dorsey to
burst into another round of coarse laughter.

Old Heck was moody during the drive home.

For nearly two years Dorsey had been crowing because of the defeat of
Quicksilver by the black racer from the Vermejo. It was becoming more
than idle jesting. It looked as if, for some reason, he was trying to
torment Old Heck until something serious was started. Old Heck was a
good loser but he was growing tired of the persistent nagging. He had
not whimpered at the loss of the twenty-five hundred dollars Dorsey won
from him on the race. Even the humiliation of seeing his best horse put
in second place by the Y-Bar animal had been endured philosophically and
without malice because he believed