"That's always the way," grumbled Craft, kicking his chair back. "Here I ride from hell to breakfast and back—and I wanna say again that having that hold-up fifteen miles from here was too much of a good thing. Just as well have had it two or three miles away. It wouldn't have made a bit of difference, not a smidgin, by Gawd."
"You know, Felix," defended Tip, "that we had it fifteen miles away so the give-out horse of Bill's would look more natural."
"Damn his give-out horse," snarled Craft, moving stiffly toward the hall leading to the kitchen. "I wish it had give out before I was born."
"So you found out how rough-gaited the pinto was, did you, Felix?" Billy observed sweetly. "Do you know, I had an idea you would. Yeah. You don't ride enough, that's whatsa matter. Stick too close behind your faro box, you do. Y'oughta try the open air and the range more. Tell you, Felix, I'll gamble you'll do more ridin' and less card playin' in the next sixty days than you ever did in any two months of your life before. In round numbers I'll bet you ride more than six hundred miles in the next two months. Go you a hundred even. The bet payable in Golden Bar sixty days—say any time after the first day of June."
"Humor him, Crafty," suggested Tip, glad of the diversion. "Sometimes they turn real violent."
"Make it five hundred even," said Craft, who was nothing if not commercial.
Billy smiled pityingly. "You poor feller! But you've asked for it. Five hundred she is. It'll have to be a finger bet, because I haven't a cent with me."
"Your word's good," said Craft and went on his way.
"How about you fellers?" Billy pursued brightly. "Any chance of my turning a honest penny? I'll go you both the same as Crafty. I suppose my word's good."
"Better than gold," declared Tip, "but I don't see how you're going to check up on anybody's riding."