“Naw,” was the careless answer, “I ain’t seen him for two hours.”

“Something must be wrong!” Chuck exclaimed.  “You stay here and watch!  I’ll go see Old Heck—­maybe he knows where he is.”

“Hell, yes!” Bert said as the other started Silver Tip in a run toward where the Clagstone “Six” was parked.  “He’s got to be found!  Nobody else but him can ride the maverick!”

At the car, before his horse was fairly stopped, Chuck leaned over and asked, tensely: 

“Have any of you people seen th’ Ramblin’ Kid?”

Old Heck straightened up.

“Ain’t he at the stables?” he inquired uneasily.  “He was there this morning—­”

“No,” Chuck replied hurriedly, “he’s been gone two hours!”

“Good lord,” Old Heck exclaimed, “he’s got to be found!  The race starts in ten minutes.”

“And nobody but him can ride the filly!” Skinny interrupted.  “I wonder if he’s—­” he started to say “drunk,” but stopped as Carolyn June looked quickly at him.  The word was in both their minds.

“It ain’t natural!” Old Heck cried; “there must be something dirty!  You boys go look for him; I’ll, keep my eyes open here!”

As Old Heck said “dirty” the picture of Mike Sabota flashed into Carolyn June’s mind.  Some intuition seemed to couple, in her inner consciousness, the big Greek with the Ramblin’ Kid’s disappearance.

The horses for the two-mile sweepstakes were already beginning to come on to the track.  Flip Williams was walking Thunderbolt up and down in front of the grandstand, trying to keep the high-spirited stallion quiet until time came to mount; the rider of Say-So was doing the same thing with his entry; Slim Tucker was already sitting on Dash-Away, the trim Wyoming mare standing unruffled near the starting line, while Snow Johnson, like Tucker, already on his mount, was circling Prince John in wide loops behind the others.

Carolyn June was stunned for a moment by the thought that had come into her mind when the picture of the burly Greek flashed before her.  She clenched her hands and her cheeks whitened.

“Come on, Skinny!” she said suddenly, stepping off the running-board of the car and swinging on to Red John, “we’ll go help look for the Ramblin’ Kid!”

She whirled the big bay around the end of the grandstand and rode in a fast gallop straight for the box stall, Skinny and Chuck following close behind her.  A quick resolution formed in her mind:  “Nobody but the Ramblin’ Kid could ride the filly?”

She could ride the mare!

Even if the Ramblin’ Kid was not found Sabota and his crowd should not be allowed to win by dirty work—­if dirty work had been done!

At the stall Carolyn June sprang from Red John.

Bert was nervously walking about, calling occasionally the name of the missing Quarter Circle KT cowboy.

“Have you found him?” Carolyn June asked as Skinny and Chuck came up behind her.