"What he might do ain't worrying me," said the Kid.
"Listen a second. Maybe you won't believe it, but I've been on the up and up with the boss. Honest, I have. I could have tipped one of the other hustlers to tout him and sink the money for a split, but—well, I didn't do it, that's all. He was white to me and I tried to be white too, see? I even told him not to bet on the horse until I gave him the office, and so far we've been running for nothing but the purse. You haven't touted him either——"
"Draw your bat and make a quick finish!" said the Kid shortly. "What's it all about?"
"Suppose I should talk him into putting a bet down to-morrow?"
"A bet on what?"
"On Last Chance. It ain't no crime for a man to bet on his own horse, is it? He told me he'd give me a percentage of what he won. Maybe the old crowbait will go better in the mud, and I'll ride him until his eyes stick out a foot. We might accidentally get down there to the judges' stand in front, and——"
"And still you haven't said anything," interrupted the Kid. "You want something; what is it?"
"I want you not to queer the play. Hopwood won't bet much; like as not he won't bet anything without putting it up to you first. It's my last chance to pick up a piece of change——"
"Last chance on Last Chance," mused the Kid, "and that's a hunch, but I wouldn't play it with counterfeit Confederate money."