"Great!" the boy commented when Carney, having gently eased the horse down, returned. "He's the same old Waster; he flattens out in that stride of his till he looks like a pony. His flanks ain't pumpin' none. He'll do; he's had lots of work—he's in better condition than Ding Dong, 'cause Slimy Red's been puttin' in most of his trainin' time at the bar. I got a three-pound saddle in my trunk that I won the 'Kenner Stakes' at Saratoga on. Slimy Red will be givin' me about ten pounds if you make the match catch weights; it'll be a cinch—like gettin' money from home. But don't tell Molly."
"We'll split fifty-fifty," Carney said.
"Nothin' doin', Mister Mug; you cop the coin for yourself—how much are you goin' to bet?"
"Five or ten thousand."
"Well, you give me ten per cent of the five thousand—five hundred bucks, if we win. That'll square Molly's bill for bringin' me up here."
"Come inside, kid," Carney said; "I want to write out something."
Inside Carney said, "Molly, I'm going to give Pat to Billy for a riding horse——"
"What?"
But Billy's gasp of astonishment was choked by a frowning wink of one of Bulldog's gray eyes.
"Pat's getting a little old for the hard knocks I have to give a horse," Carney resumed; "that's partly what I came to Walla Walla for, to get a young horse. Let me have a sheet of paper and a pen; it doesn't do for a man to own a horse in this country without handy evidence as how he came by him; and though this is a gift I'm going to make it out in the form of a bill of sale."