"It's a go. The race goes to Magpie on a foul."
The big man in the stand made this announcement in a voice of thunder.
"Bully for you, Shan Rhue!" yelled the gamblers, crowding to the stand in a body.
At the same moment Bud caught Hatrack by the bridle and led him out of the crowd, for he knew what was impending.
"I say it don't go," shouted Ben. "This man, who is in league with that old crook, Norris, declares a foul. I say there was no foul."
"How does the other judge go?" called a voice.
"He declines to give a voice in the matter," answered Ben.
"Throw the coyote down here, and we'll help him make up his mind," called the foreman of the Running Water. "If he's too much of a coward to decide for the right, we'll help him. Throw him over."
The foreman of the Running Water was a formidable-looking man.
He was tall and sinewy, with a seamed and scarred face, a map of many battles with the elements, the wild animals of mountain and plain, and with his fellow men.