“Well, I guess I’ll go over to-morrow and see him. I’ll bet the hoss’ll know me like a book. Why, podner, I’ve rode behind him many a time.”
“W’at’s dat ye’re givin’ us?” asked one of the plug-uglies who infest that part of the city, crowding up against the detective.
In paying over the money Nick had[{10}] purposely exhibited a large roll of bills. He was positive that such a course would attract the attention of some of the sharpers about the place and would lead to some sort of conversation.
“I was jest a-sayin’,” he said, turning to the bully with a benevolent look, “that I’ve rode behind Denver Bay many a time.”
“Good little horse,” said the other, “but I think I can give yer a pointer or two on him.”
“Don’t give it away here,” said Nick, in a whisper.
“I don’t give nuthin’ away. I gets money fer pointers—I does.”
As he spoke he took the detective by the arm and led him to the meanly furnished bar-room in the rear of the place.
“I’ll jest tell you,” he said, as they stood at the bar with liberal glasses of whisky before them, “that yer want ter play dat hoss fer second place.”
“I’ve been playin’ him fer winner.”