“No,” Bert answered glumly, “he ain’t showed up yet!  There ain’t no signs of him around here.”

“What’ll we do?” Skinny asked excitedly.  “The race is almost ready to start and—­do you reckon you could ride the filly, Bert?” he finished with a gleam of hope.

“I doubt it, but, well, I’ll try her—­if Captain Jack’ll let me get her out.”

“You boys keep back!” Carolyn June interrupted, stepping to the door of the stall and opening it, “Captain Jack knows me and—­I—­I—­think the filly does, too—­I can handle her—­” as she stepped boldly inside the compartment with the horses.

“Don’t go in there!” Skinny cried, “Car—­Carolyn June, they’ll kill you!”

“You boys keep away!” she laughed.  “And don’t get the horses nervous!  They won’t hurt me!” she answered, going ahead toward the animals.

Captain Jack looked at her suspiciously an instant

“Jack-Boy—­Jack-Boy!” she called with a caress in her voice.  “Careful!  We’re friends!” The attitude of the stallion changed instantly and the menace was gone from his eyes.

The Gold Dust maverick heard the voice and with a friendly little nicker rubbed her head against the outstretched hand.

In a corner was the Ramblin’ Kid’s saddle, bridle, blanket and worn leather chaps.

With a light pat of the outlaw filly’s cheek Carolyn June turned and began quickly and deftly putting the riding gear on the beautiful mare.

* * * * *

For an hour and a half the Ramblin’ Kid lay as he had fallen when he started to hand the coffee cup back to Gyp.  Breathing heavily, his face flushed, he was as one in the deep stupor of complete intoxication.  At last he stirred uneasily.  An unconscious groan came from his lips.  His eyes opened.  In them was a dazed, puzzled look.  Where was he?  He tried vainly to remember—­the clean life, the iron constitution and youth—­aided perhaps by an indomitable subconscious will protesting against this something that had happened to him—­were throwing off the effects of the drug hours before an ordinary man would have regained even a hint of sensibility.

He stood up—­reeling unsteadily.  He was deathly sick.  Lightning flashes of pain throbbed through his head.  Waves of blackness rolled before his eyes.  Surges of numbness swept over his legs and arms.  He tried hard to remember.  There was something—­what was it?  Th’—­th’—­what th’ hell?—­th’ race!  That was it—­th’—­th’—­th’ sweepstakes!  In an instant the thought was gone.  It kept beating back:  Th’ sweepstakes—­th’ race—­What time was it?  Had it been run?  He staggered to the door.  It was locked!  His head was bursting.  If he could only get over the nausea.  He felt his knees start to give way.  No!  No!  My God, he wouldn’t give up!  He—­oh, yes. Th’ race!  Captain Jack—­no—­th’—­th’—­maverick—­he had to ride—­He must get out!  There was a—­a—­window—­sometimes