“’Course you remember it,” said the Kid softly. “I met you just south of the Stewart and you were driving as though the devil was after you. Queer, ain’t it?” he continued, “that the police could not find out who the murderer was, while I knew in less than a week. Strange tales from the Indians reached my ears and one of them brought me a lot of things he had found around the cabin before the mounted police came. There was a mitten, an empty 45-50 shell, and a handkerchief with a man’s name on it, and, well, there were a lot of other things. But what’s the use of bringing up old scores. Joe was so mean that the poison in his heart would have killed him pretty soon anyway. Look here,” he said abruptly. “I reckon this dog fight has gone about far enough. That white bull is dead game, but he can’t go another battle.”
“You want the fight called off?” the Major asked with head bent.
“I reckon that’s about it,” said the Kid cheerfully, “and you might as well untie that youngster’s hands and feet. It ain’t no ways comfortable for a boy to be trussed up that way.”
“All right,” said the Major listlessly, and he walked over to the referee and spoke a few words.
“All right,” the referee replied sullenly, “you’re the boss. Match declared off for personal reasons,” he shouted to the crowd outside. “All bets on this fight declared off.” There was an angry murmur from the crowd outside. The Kid slashed away Case’s bindings. “Bring your dog and keep close to me. There’s no telling how that crowd will act. There are some bad men amongst them.” A hundred men surrounded them with angry threats as they broke out of the circle. The Kid took Captain Joe and held him up to the view of the crowd. “Here’s a poor, little four-legged American citizen,” he said. “He’s game, if he is a chekako. He’s killed three of your trail-hardened huskies. That ought to be enough, but now you want him to tackle four more. Is that a square deal? Is that the American spirit of fair play?”
“You Americans are always boasting about what you do,” sneered an Englishman. “Why, that dog isn’t an American. It’s an English bull dog.”
“I will admit his ancestors came from England and that he has inherited his awful looking mug from them, but he isn’t to blame for that. He’s got the true American spirit.”
The Americans in the crowd laughed at the Kid’s retort, and one of them shouted: “Hurrah for the stars and stripes.”
“You blooming braggers,” shouted the Englishman. “You’ll never stand straight up and fight fair with odds even.”
“We, as a nation, never get the chance,” retorted the Kid. “We always have had to give odds of five to one at least. Remember the wars of 1776 and 1812?”