they had them—­in the back of the stalls.  Maybe the hay was over it.  He climbed on the bales.  Behind them he could see the opening.  God, he was weak!  With the sweat of terrible nausea bursting from every pore of his body he pulled the bales back.  He fell over the bale on which he had been lying.  One hand brushed his hat which had fallen from his head.  Mechanically, with stiff fingers, he picked it up and jammed it on again.  Then he climbed—­crawled—­over the hay and pitched forward through the opening, in a limp heap, on the ground outside.

For a moment he lost consciousness completely again:  Th’—­th’ race—­th’ maverick! he mustn’t forget—­

He fought his way to his feet and groped along back of the building—­the stall—­which way was it?  Down there?  No—­the other way—­

As Carolyn June tightened the rear cinch on the Gold Dust maverick and turned toward the door of the stall with:  “Look out, boys—­I’m coming out!” the Ramblin’ Kid, clutching at the side of the building, reeled around the corner of the stall.  The cowboys saw him.  He himself saw only black shapes where their horses were.

“Good God!” Skinny cried, “he’s drunk!”

Carolyn June heard Skinny’s exclamation at the instant the Ramblin’ Kid, catching at the half-open door, almost fell into the stall.  His eyes stared with a dull, puzzled, unrecognizing vacancy first at Carolyn June and then the Gold Dust maverick. “Who th’ hell—­” he mumbled stiffly.  “What—­th’—­oh, yes—­there’s th’ filly—­th’—­th’—­race.  It must—­be—­time.  Th’ mare’s saddled!  That’s—­that’s—­funny!  I can’t remember.  Th’ race—­th’ sweepstakes—­that’s it—­”

Reaching over he jerked the reins from the hand of Carolyn June.

“Who—­who—­get the—­” came like the thick growl of a beast from his throat.  “You—­you—­can’t ride—­she’ll—­she’ll—­kill—­”

Carolyn June shrank back as if she had been struck.  She pressed her hands against her cheeks and stepped away with a look of horror and disgust as the Ramblin’ Kid backed out of the stall with the Gold Dust maverick.  Outside he fumbled grotesquely at the silky mane and climbed weakly into the saddle.

Chuck and Bert started toward him.

“Get—­the—­hell—­” he snarled as he saw their horses—­mere shadow shapes they were to him—­approach.

“Let him alone!” Skinny said.  “He’s drunk!  You’ll just scare the filly and make her hurt him!”

The boys let him go.

With blanched cheeks Carolyn June mounted Red John and with Skinny, Bert and Chuck, rode back to the Clagstone “Six.”  Her heart was utterly sick.  So this was it?  It had come out—­the brute—­the beast that was in him!

They reached the car as the Ramblin’ Kid, at the horse entrance, at the other end of the grandstand, came on the track with the Gold Dust maverick.

Old Heck looked up when the group approached.  He saw the agony in Carolyn June’s eyes and started to speak.