The Kid swung about and glanced listlessly toward the betting ring. Then he looked at the horses on their way to the post. The old man read his thought.
"You've got a couple of minutes yet," said he. "Mebbe more; there's some bad actors in that bunch, and they'll delay the start."
The Kid looked again at the betting ring; then he shook his head. "Aw, what's the use?" said he irritably. "What's the use?"
Old Man Curry's countenance took on a look of deep concern.
"What ails you, son? Ain't you well?"
"Well enough, I guess. Why?"
"Because I never see you pass up a mortal cinch before."
The Kid chuckled mirthlessly. "Old-timer," said he, "I'm up against a cinch of my own—but it's a cinch to lose."
He returned to his survey of the open field, but Old Man Curry lingered. He stroked his beard meditatively.
"Son," said he at length, "Solomon says that a brother is born for adversity. I don't know what a father is born for, but I reckon it's to give advice. Where you been the last week or ten days? It's mighty lonesome round the stable without you."