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 to Skeeter's middle, to his shoulder, to his ears—and with the next leap thrust his nose past Skeeter's as they finished.
Well, then there was the usual noise, everyone trying to shout louder than his fellows. Bud rode to where Pop was sitting apart on a pacing gray horse that he always rode, and paused to say guardedly,
“I pulled him, Pop. But at that I won, so if I can pry another race out of this bunch to-day, you can bet all you like. And you owe me five dollars,” he added thriftily.
“Sho! Shucks almighty!” spluttered Pop, reaching reluctantly into his pocket for the money. “Jeff, he done some pullin' himself—I wish I knowed,” he added pettishly, “just how big a fool you air.”
“Hey, come over here!” shouted Jeff. “What yuh nagging ole Pop about?”
“Pop lost five dollars on that race,” Bud called back, and loped over to the crowd. “But he isn't the only one. Seems to me I've got quite a bunch of money coming to me, from this crowd!”