It was the last race of the day and from their sheltered pagoda the judges looked out upon the river of mud which had been the home stretch. Forty-eight hours of rain had turned it into a grand canal. The presiding judge scowled as he examined the opening odds. "Nonwinners, eh? Same old bunch of hounds. Grayling, 2 to 1; Ivy Leaf, 4 to 1; Montezuma, 10 to 1; Bluestone, 10 to 1; Alibi, 15 to 1; Stuffy Eaton, 25 to 1—and here's Last Chance again! I wonder where Hopwood got that horse? Remember him, two years ago at Butte? I thought he was pulling a junk wagon by now. Last Chance, 50 to 1. Jockey Gillis; hm-m-m. There's a sweet combination for you! A horse that can't untrack himself, a jockey that never rode a winner, and a half-witted grocer! Why couldn't the chump stick to the little villainies that he knows about—sanding the sugar and watering the kerosene? I declare, sir, if I had half an excuse I'd refuse the entry of that horse and warn Hopwood away from here! It would be an act of Christian charity to do it."
The Bald-faced Kid, faithful to the bitter end, assisted in the paddock as usual. Last Chance, his tail braided in a hard knot and minus the ribbons in his mane, submitted to the saddling process with unusual docility. His customary attitude of protest seemed to be swallowed up in a gloomy acquiescence to fate. It was as if he said: "You can do this to me again if you want to, but I assure you now that it is useless, quite useless."
Calamity leaned down from the saddle and whispered in the Kid's ear:
"You can get 50 and 60 to 1 on him! The boss said he'd make a bet. Don't let him overlook it!"
When the bugle sounded, Hopwood grasped the bridle and led the horse through the chute to the track. The rain beat hard upon his hunched shoulders and his feet plowed heavily through the puddles. Repeated failure had robbed him of the pride of ownership and all confidence in horseflesh. He was, as the Bald-faced Kid said to himself, "a sad looking mess." Hopwood spoke but once, wasting no words.
"Make good if you're going to," said he tersely, "because win or lose I'm through!"
"Yes, boss, and don't forget what I told you. To-day's the day to bet on him. Go to it!"
Last Chance splashed away down the track and Hopwood turned on his heel with a growl.
"Come along!" said he to the Kid. "I might as well be all the different kinds of fool while I'm about it!"