MOCHA AND JAVA
Old Heck and Skinny had left Ophelia and Carolyn June at the Occidental Hotel, where a room was reserved by Old Heck for the use of the two women during the Rodeo. They had then gone direct to Mike Sabota's place for the express purpose of running into Dorsey and his crowd. Old Heck knew that if any large bets were to be laid on the two-mile sweepstakes the only chance would be to place them before the Ramblin' Kid brought the Gold Dust maverick to Eagle Butte and the Vermejo bunch discovered the identity of the horse Thunderbolt was up against.
The Quarter Circle KT cow-men stepped into the pool-room at exactly the instant most favorable for their purpose.
Dorsey had made his boast in the presence of a crowd.
He would hardly dare back up without covering, at least to some worth-while extent, his words with his money.
For a full minute Old Heck drilled Dorsey with a look such, as a hound dog might have in his eyes after he has cornered a coyote and pauses before he springs.
Instinctively the crowd stepped back from the two cattlemen while a death-like hush fell over the place.
"Th' Ramblin' Kid don't need to back the filly with his money, Dorsey," Old Heck said slowly and in a voice audible in every part of the room; "I'm here to back her with mine! You've done a lot of talking—now, damn you, cover your chatter with coin or shut up!" the end of the sentence coming like the crack of a whip.
With a nervous laugh the Vermejo cattleman jerked a wallet from his pocket.
"Here's a thousand that says Thunderbolt does the same thing to the
Ramblin' Kid's filly that he done to Quicksilver!" Dorsey snapped.