"What, is that thief still hangin' on to him?"
"Yes. I see you seem to know him."
"Know him! Well, I should gurgle I do know him. I thought every hoss man in the country knew him. Little Willie, the orphaned grandson, is almost old enough to be a grandfather himself. He's an outlawed jockey, an' he an' Pap go about the country skinning countrymen and cow-punchers with his fake races. He never won a square race in his life. I should say I did know him. Here he comes now. Watch me wake him up."
The old fellow was bustling up to the crowd.
"See here, young fellow, get ther gal offen that hoss, he's mine, er as good as mine in a moment. The jedges are goin' ter award ther race ter me on account o' ther foul," he shouted to Bud.
"I reckon ther hoss stays right with me," said Bud smoothly. "But I want ter tell yer thet yer better bring in that magpie hoss so's I kin git him quick. He ain't yours no more."
"Come, come! None o' yer foolishness with me," blustered the old man. "Git ther gal off before she's pulled off."
"You or any other man put your finger on thet young lady if yer dare," said Bud. "Jest try it once if yer think I'm bluffin', men."
"Hello, Pap," said the man on the Spanish mule. "Up ter yer ole tricks, I see."
The old man looked up at the man on the mule, then turned pale and slunk away without another word.