"That two hundred is about all I can handle this morning," Chuck laughed. "But I understand Old Heck's aiming to bet a little," he drawled suggestively; "probably you'd like to see him?"
"I'll see him—and raise him till he squeals!" Dorsey sneered.
The Ramblin' Kid ignored the tilt between Dorsey and Chuck and leaned indifferently against the counter waiting for the clerk to fill out the entry blank.
"Event?" the clerk questioned.
"Two-mile run," was the quiet answer.
"Rider—and horse?" glancing up.
Dorsey and Flip paused and turned their heads to catch the names the
Ramblin' Kid gave.
"I'm the rider, I reckon," the Ramblin' Kid replied, "I guess you know who I am. Th' name of th' horse? Well, now ain't that funny?" he said with a little laugh, "I never have bothered to name that critter yet! But—oh, hell, what's the difference? We'll just call her 'Ophelia' for th' time bein'—in honor of a lady-widow that's visitin' out at th' ranch!"
"The Quarter Circle KT's getting to be quite a female institution, ain't it?" Dorsey said contemptuously. "I suppose this wonder horse of yours is one of the ranch fillies and regular lightning!"
For a second the Ramblin' Kid's eyes narrowed, then he replied coldly to the last half of Dorsey's sentence: