“Bully, b’gee!” cried a voice in the crowd, and the rest roared in concert.
Smithers looked embarrassed.
“I—that is—I’ve hardly got so much—I——”
“Shame! Shame!” howled the delighted spectators.
“Whar’s that air sporting blood ye were a-talkin’ ’bout?” roared Texas. “Wow! I thought nobody’d ever ridden the critter, doggone his—er—shoes. Thought ye were so sure? ’Fraid, hey? I knowed it.”
The crowd howled still louder.
“Tell ye what I’ll do,” cried Texas, waving his bills excitedly. “I’ll go you this yere hundred to twenty! How’s that?”
“Who’ll hold the stakes?” inquired the proprietor, weakly.
“Put ’em down thar in the ring,” said Texas. “Let everybody see ’em.”
Smithers left the tent hurriedly, while the crowd roared with impatience. He came back with the money, which Texas examined cautiously, and then dropped with his own on the sawdust. And then he turned toward the sleepy bronco.