game for the other half--" He stopped
abruptly, cast one look at Sunfish and another at Boise, stepping about
uneasily, his shiny coat rippling, beautiful. He turned and combed
Sunfish's scanty mane with his gloved fingers. Those nearest saw that
his lips were trembling a little and mistook his hidden emotion for
anger.

"You got him going," a man whispered in Jeff's ear. "The kid's crazy mad.
He'll bet the shirt off his back if yuh egg him on a little more."

Jeff must have decided to "egg" Bud on. By the time the crowd had
reached the course, and the first, more commonplace races were over,
the other half of his money was in the hands of the stake-holder, who
happened on this day to be Jerry. And the odds varied from four to one
up to Jeff Hall's scornful fifteen.

"Bet yuh five hundred dollars against your bay horse," Lew offered when
Bud confessed that he had not another dollar to bet.--

"All right, it's a go with me," Bud answered recklessly. "Get his
hundred, Jerry, and put down Stopper."

"What's that saddle worth?" another asked meaningly.

"One hundred dollars," snapped Bud. "And if you want to go further,
there are my chaps and spurs and this silver-mounted bridle-and my boots
and hat-and I'll throw in Sunfish for whatever you say his hide's worth.
Who wants the outfit?"

"I'll take 'em," said Jeff, and permitted Jerry and Dave to appraise the
outfit, which Bud piled contemptuously in a heap.

He mounted Sunfish bareback with a rope halter. Bud was bareheaded and
in his sock feet. His eyes were terribly blue and bright, and his face
was flushed as a drunken man's. He glanced over to the bank where
the women and children were watching. It seemed to him that one woman
fluttered her handkerchief, and his heart beat unevenly for a minute.

Then he was riding at a walk down the course to the farthest post, and
the crowd was laughing at the contrast between the two horses. Boise
stepped springily, tossing his head, his eyes ablaze with ardor for the
race. Beside him Sunfish walked steadily as if he were carrying a pack.
He was not a pretty horse to look at. His neck was long and thin, his
mane and tail scanty and uneven, a nondescript sorrel. His head looked
large, set on the end of that neck, his nose was dished in and his eyes
had a certain veiled look, as if he were hiding a bad disposition under
those droopy lids. Without a saddle he betrayed his high, thin withers,
the sway in his back, his high hip