“‘Dope’ him?” Old Heck interrupted, puzzled.

“Yes,” Skinny explained, “the Greek had a feller named Gyp Streetor put some stuff in th’ Ramblin?  Kid’s coffee.  He wasn’t drunk at all—­he was just poisoned with ‘knock-out!’”

“Good lord!” Old Heck exclaimed.  “And he rode that race when he was drugged!  While we all thought he’d gone to pieces and was drunk!”

Carolyn June’s cheeks suddenly turned pale.  He cared, but he was gone!  Perhaps never to come back!  If seemed as if an iron hand was clutching at her throat!

She and Ophelia went into the hotel and Old Heck and Skinny drove the car over to the stock-yards where the cattle were being loaded.

After Parker and the cowboys were on their way east with the steers and before he returned to the ranch Old Heck went into the room in which Sabota lay.  The Greek’s head was a mass of white bandages.  His eyes battered and swollen shut, he could not see the face of his visitor.

For a moment Old Heck looked at him, his lips parted in a smile of contempt lightened with satisfaction.

“Well, Sabota,” he said at last, “th’ Ramblin’ Kid didn’t quite do his duty, did he?  If he had gone as far as he ought to you wouldn’t be laying there—­they’d just about now be hiding your dirty carcass under six feet of ‘dobe!’”

Sabota mumbled some guttural, unintelligible reply.

“Listen, you infernal skunk,” Old Heck went on coldly, “as quick as you’re able to travel you’ll find Eagle Butte’s a right good place to get away from!  You understand what I mean.  If I catch you around, well, I won’t use no fists!” And without waiting for an answer he turned and left the room.

The owner of the Quarter Circle KT then hunted lip the marshal of Eagle Butte.

“Tom,” he said, “I reckon you’ll be looking some for th’ Ramblin’ Kid, after what happened last night, won’t you?”

The marshal had heard of Sabota’s effort to Have the young cowboy drugged the day of the race and also the immediate cause for the fight.

“Oh, I don’t know as I will,” he said, “unless the Greek makes some charge or other.  I don’t imagine he’ll do that”

“I know blamed well he won’t!” Old Heck interrupted.  “But how about th’ Ramblin’ Kid putting his gun in your ribs—­resisting an officer and so on?”

“Putting his gun in my ribs?  Resisting an officer?” the lanky Missourian answered with a sly grin; “who said he put a gun on me—­or resisted an officer or anything?  I ain’t heard nothing about it!”

Two days later Sabota, with the help of “Red” Jackson, managed to get to the Santa Fe station.  He was able to travel and he did travel.  Jackson said he went to the “Border.”  Eagle Butte did not know or care—­the Cimarron town was through with him.

When Old Heck, Carolyn June and Ophelia returned to the Quarter Circle KT the evening of the day following the fight, the Gold Dust maverick whinnied lonesomely from the circular corral as the Clagstone “Six” stopped in front of the house.