"It pays to be careful," smiled Mr. Saltoun. "Always bear that in mind. I ain't wanting to rub anything in, Racey, but if you'd been a mite more careful, just a mite more careful, you wouldn't be out so much at the finish. Drinks are on you, cowboy. And when you stop to think that I'd 'a' made the bet just the same if you'd wanted Lanpher and Tweezy in on it. Only you didn't."
"Guess I must 'a' overlooked 'em, huh?" grinned Racey. "Feller can't think of everything, can he?"
"I'm glad to see yo're taking it thisaway," approved Mr. Saltoun.
"Working for six months for nothing don't seem to bother you a-tall."
"I ain't worked six months for nothing—yet," pointed out Racey. "The six months ain't up—yet. You wanna remember, Salt, that a race ain't over till the horses cross the line."
"You gotta prove Jack Harpe's connection," began Mr. Saltoun.
Racey topped his mount, but as the horse started he held him up.
"Lessee who's coming," he suggested, jerking his thumb over his shoulder.
He and Mr. Saltoun both turned their heads. Someone was riding toward them along the trail from the direction of the Lazy River ford—Racey had caught the clatter of the horse's hoofs on the rocks of a wash wherein the trail lay concealed.
"Siftin' right along," said Mr. Saltoun.
Racey nodded. Horse and rider slid into sight above the side of the wash and trotted toward them.