"Good God!" Skinny cried, "he's drunk!"
Carolyn June heard Skinny's exclamation at the instant the Ramblin' Kid, catching at the half-open door, almost fell into the stall. His eyes stared with a dull, puzzled, unrecognizing vacancy first at Carolyn June and then the Gold Dust maverick. "Who th' hell—" he mumbled stiffly. "What—th'—oh, yes—there's th' filly—th'—th'—race. It must—be—time. Th' mare's saddled! That's—that's—funny! I can't remember. Th' race—th' sweepstakes—that's it—"
Reaching over he jerked the reins from the hand of Carolyn June.
"Who—who—get the—" came like the thick growl of a beast from his throat. "You—you—can't ride—she'll—she'll—kill—"
Carolyn June shrank back as if she had been struck. She pressed her hands against her cheeks and stepped away with a look of horror and disgust as the Ramblin' Kid backed out of the stall with the Gold Dust maverick. Outside he fumbled grotesquely at the silky mane and climbed weakly into the saddle.
Chuck and Bert started toward him.
"Get—the—hell—" he snarled as he saw their horses—mere shadow shapes they were to him—approach.
"Let him alone!" Skinny said. "He's drunk! You'll just scare the filly and make her hurt him!"
The boys let him go.
With blanched cheeks Carolyn June mounted Red John and with Skinny, Bert and Chuck, rode back to the Clagstone "Six." Her heart was utterly sick. So this was it? It had come out—the brute—the beast that was in him!