, for Gawdsake don't talk like that promiscuous, Bud," he begged.
"You might hit too close--"

"Ay, Jerry! Ever hear that old Armenian proverb, 'He who tells the truth
should have one foot in the stirrup'? I learned that in school."

Jerry let go Bud's hand and took the bottle, Bud's watch that had his
mother's picture pasted in the back, and his vest, a pocket of which
contained a memorandum of his wagers. Bud was stepping out of his chaps,
and he looked up and grinned. "Cheer up, Jerry. You're going to laugh in
a minute." When Jerry still remained thoughtful, Bud added soberly, "I
appreciate you and old Pop standing by me. I don't know just what you've
got on your mind, but the fact that there's something is hint enough for
me." Whereupon Jerry's eyes lightened a little.

The four horses came thundering down the track, throwing tiny pebbles
high into the air as they passed. A trim little sorrel won, and there
was the usual confusion of voices upraised in an effort to be heard.
When that had subsided, interest once more centered on Skeeter and
Smoky, who seemed to have recovered somewhat from his lameness.

Not a man save Pop and Bud had placed a bet on Smoky, yet every man
there seemed keenly interested in the race. They joshed Bud, who grinned
and took it good-naturedly, and found another five dollars in--his
pocket to bet--this time with Pop, who kept eyeing him sharply--and it
seemed to Bud warningly. But Bud wanted to play his own game, this time,
and he avoided Pop's eyes.

The two men rode down the hoof-scored sand to the quarter post,
Skeeter dancing sidewise at the prospect of a race, Smoky now and then
tentatively against Bud's steady pressure of the bit.

"He's not limping now," Bud gloated as they rode. But Jeff only laughed
tolerantly and made no reply.

Dave Truman started them with a pistol shot, and the two horses darted
away, Smoky half a jump in the lead. His limp was forgotten, and for
half the distance he ran neck and neck with Skeeter. Then he dropped to
Skeeter's middle, to his flank--then ran with his black nose even
with Skeeter's rump. Even so it was a closer race than the crowd had
expected, and all the cowboys began to yell themselves purple.

But when they were yet a few leaps from the wire clothes-line stretched
high, from post to post, Bud leaned forward until he lay flat alongside
Smoky's neck, and gave a real Indian war-whoop. Smoky lifted and
lengthened his stride, came up again