A few days before the race Dorgan moved Chief to one of half a dozen sheds on the fair grounds, which a load of lumber and another of straw made comfortable. There he dwelt with him, giving him easy exercise and sizing up the other horses.
"Outside this Flambeau there ain't much to worry about," he concluded. "Only with a field of seven, like there will be in this race, there's always the chance of something going wrong. Chief ain't wise to starts, nor to running in company."
"You catch 'um good start," Paul Sam advised.
"You're a wise Injun," Dorgan told him. "I'll try to be somewhere's on the line—or in front of it. Still, I ain't quite burglar-proof."
At the fair Angus had a number of exhibits of ranch produce, cattle, and his team of young drivers. The night before the race he had been arranging his exhibits. This done he had supper, strolled around for an hour, and then returned to the National House, which was the leading hotel, in search of a man to whom he hoped to sell a few head of cattle. He got the number of his prospective customer's room, but apparently he had been misinformed, for the room held a poker game in full blast, the players being Gavin and Gerald French, two somewhat hard-faced strangers, and a young fellow about his own age whom he set down as an Englishman.
The French boys nodded a greeting.
"Hold on a minute," said Gerald as Angus would have withdrawn. "I want to see you."
So Angus remained, and standing behind Gerald watched the play.
One of the strangers dealt. On the draw Gerald held a full house; and yet he dropped out, as did Gavin. The Englishman who stayed lost most of his remaining stack. But the winning stranger did not seem elated. He scowled at the pot as he took it in.
Wondering what intuition had bade Gerald lay down a full—for the pot had been won by fours—Angus continued to watch the game. The deal came to Gerald, who riffled the cards.