Old Heck sat impassive as though carved from stone and said nothing.
Ophelia nervously chewed at the finger of her glove while her eyes moistened with sympathy and pity.
Skinny, Chuck and Bert sat gloomily, moodily, on their bronchos and watched Thunderbolt lead the quintette of running horses.
For the life of him Skinny could not keep from thinking of the five hundred dollars he had bet with Sabota, on the race, and the number of white shirts and purple ties he might have bought with the money!
Over in the track-field Parker, Charley and Pedro saw the start of the race and each swore softly and silently to himself.
Sing Pete, alone of the Quarter Circle KT crowd, in the jam of the grandstand, stretched his neck and followed with inscrutable eyes the close-bunched racers. The start had puzzled him, yet he murmured hopefully:
"Maybe all samee Lamblin' Kid he beatee hell out of 'em yet!"
The loyal Chinese cook had wagered the savings of a dozen years on the speed of the Gold Dust maverick's nimble legs and his faith in the "Lamblin' Kid."
A blanket might have covered the five horses as they swung around the first mile.
The speed-mad animals roared down the homestretch, finishing the first half of the race in the almost identical position each had taken in the getaway.