“Guess you people ain’t got anything out there for the two-mile sweepstakes this year, have you?” Dorsey broke in with a sneer.  “Old Thunderbolt’s too much for them sand-hill jumpers from the Cimarron.”

“Oh, I don’t know as he is,” Old Heck said in a voice emotionless as an Indian’s.  “The Quarter Circle KT will probably be represented in the big event.  It seems to me I heard Chuck mention entering that Silver Tip colt of his and, let’s see, I believe th’ Ramblin’ Kid said something about running a new filly he’s been riding some, didn’t he, Skinny?”

“Since I come to think of it I believe he did,” Skinny answered as if it were a matter without especial interest; “if I remember right he did speak something of it a day or two ago.”

“Well, bring ’em on!” Dorsey exclaimed boastfully, “the Y-Bar will take all the money you Kiowa fellers feel like contributing!  Old Thunderbolt’s as fit as a new rawhide rope and is just aching to rake in another three or four thousand of Quarter Circle KT dinero if you people have got the nerve to back your judgment!”

There was a dead hush as the crowd in the pool-room waited for Old Heck’s reply to Dorsey’s drunken challenge.

“We’ll kind of remember that invitation, Dorsey,” Old Heck said in tones as hard and smooth and cold as ice, while his gray eyes narrowed and bored the boastful cow-man like points of steel, “we’ll sort of bear in mind that suggestion of yours.  The Quarter Circle KT will send a horse into the big race that will beat that Thunderbolt critter of yours just three times as bad as he set old Quicksilver back—­and we’ll give you action on any amount of money, cattle or anything else you want to name!  You can put your friends here in on it too, if you want to—­” with a scornful glance around the pool-room at the loafers in the place.  “Come on, Skinny,” he added as he started toward the door, “more than likely Ophelia and Carolyn June are through with their trading and ready to go home.”

All stood silent until Skinny and Old Heck stepped out of the door, then Mike Sabota broke into a coarse, taunting laugh.  As they turned up the street Old Heck and Skinny heard Dorsey and the crowd inside join in the merriment.

“Damn that fool, Dorsey!” Old Heck exclaimed viciously, as he heard the shouts of derisive laughter.  “I’m going to wipe him out on that race—­if he’s got the guts to come across and back up that Thunderbolt horse as hard as he blows about him!”

“I think I’ll hook Sabota for a few hundred on the sweepstakes, myself,” Skinny replied with a good deal of feeling, “I don’t like the way that dirty cuss acts any better than I like Dorsey’s bragging!”

Carolyn June and Ophelia were waiting when Old Heck and Skinny arrived at the Golden Rule.

When the Clagstone “Six” whirled past the Amusement Parlor a few moments later Dorsey and Sabota were standing in the door.