"What is it, Solly? I reckon what yer tryin' ter think of is that ye've forgot yer supper," said Bud.
"No, 'tain't that," said the cow-puncher, staring harder at the old man.
"Hear about ther race, Sol?" asked Ben.
"Now, don't yer expect me ter ask yer what race an' then spring thet ole gag about ther 'human race.' I won't stand fer it. I've got troubles enough. Thet buckskin pony o' mine hez hed ther very divil in him all day, an' I ain't feelin' none too amiable."
"This is on the square."
"Well, cut loose."
"Bud is going to race Hatrack against that magpie horse grazing out there, and throw in a six-shooter if the old gent wins."
Sol Flatbush turned and looked at the magpie pony, then at the old man. Suddenly a gleam of intelligence illuminated his face, and he grinned.
"Say, Bud, I wisht ye'd come over yere an' look at this buckskin's off hind foot, an' tell me what ye thinks o' it. He's been actin' powerful queer on it all day."
Bud rose lazily and followed Sol out of camp. The buckskin was grazing peacefully a few hundred yards away, and as they walked toward it Sol Flatbush said: