"Wal, I ain't afraid of your handlin' of a hoss," he said, soberly. "An' as long as you're in earnest I won't stop you. But, Lucy, no bettin'. I won't let you gamble."
"Not even with you?" she coaxed.
Bostil stared at the girl. What had gotten into her? "What'll you bet?" he, queried, with blunt curiosity.
"Dad, I'll go you a hundred dollars in gold that I finish one—two—three."
Bostil threw back his head to laugh heartily. What a chip of the old block she was! "Child, there's some fast hosses that'll be back of the King. You'd be throwin' away money."
Blue fire shone in his daughter's eyes. She meant business, all right, and Bostil thrilled with pride in her.
"Dad, I'll bet you two hundred, even, that I beat the King!" she flashed.
"Wal, of all the nerve!" ejaculated Bostil. "No, I won't take you up. Reckon I never before turned down an even bet. Understand, Lucy, ridin' in the race is enough for you."
"All right, Dad," replied Lucy, obediently.
At that juncture Bostil suddenly shoved back his plate and turned his face to the open door. "Don't I hear a runnin' hoss?"