“Well, here’s twenty-five dollars. I may not see you again till just before the race comes off.”
“I believe,” said Amos, as he took the money, “that Denver Bay would win that race if you’d let him alone.”
“In that case it would cost my man just forty thousand dollars.”
As Martin passed out of the stall the door was left open for an instant, and Amos stood directly in front of it with the greenbacks still in his hands.
Neither he nor Martin observed the greedy look which two shabby-looking fellows who were passing at the time cast upon the money.
But Nick Carter, from his position, took it all in.
“I’m in great luck again,” he thought. “If those two loafers are the kind of fellows I think they are I’ll have a chance to help that man out of a scrape before long.”
The next moment the two men advanced to the door of the stall occupied by Amos, and stepped inside.
It was now after dark, and the part of the room in which the stalls were situated was but dimly lighted.
There was still excitement enough around the cashier’s desk to attract the attention of those who still lingered in the place.