Old Heck, his heart filled with a queer mixture of elation and uncertainty—­with a sort of joy and sinking sensation all at once—­agreed to Parker’s suggestion.

Parker rode into Eagle Butte with the cowboys.  Old Heck, Ophelia, Skinny and Carolyn June went in the Clagstone “Six.”  Chuck led Old Pie Face for Skinny to ride in the parade and Bert took Red John, Old Heck’s most showy saddle horse—­a long-legged, high-stepping, proud-headed, bay gelding—­for Carolyn June to use, for she, too, had declared her intention of joining in the grand promenade with which the Rodeo would open.

The Ramblin’ Kid left the Gold Dust maverick in the circular corral and rode Captain Jack to Eagle Butte.  It would be necessary for him to register the filly, with the entry judges, on the first day of the Rodeo if she was to run in the two-mile sweepstakes.

The rules of the Rodeo required, also, that all who expected to participate in any of the events of the coming week must “show” in the grand march or parade.  The animals that were to be used might also be paraded, but this was not compulsory.

Accompanied by Chuck, the Ramblin’ Kid went directly to the entry offices of the Rodeo, which were roughly boxed-up compartments under the rear of the grandstand.

A group of “hot-dog” vendors and “concession spielers” looked curiously at the two as they left Captain Jack and Silver Tip, with bridle reins dropped over their heads, standing in front of the office and stepped inside.

Lafe Dorsey and Flip Williams were at the clerk’s desk.

The Vermejo cattleman had just registered Thunderbolt, with Flip as rider, for the big race.

They looked around as the Ramblin’ Kid and Chuck came in.

“Well, is the Quarter Circle KT getting up sand enough to go against old Thunderbolt again?” Dorsey asked with a curl of his lip and an ugly sneer.

“Oh, I reckon we’ve got a little nerve left,” Chuck answered with mock humility, “not much, but a little, maybe.  I was going to put Silver Tip in the sweepstakes,” he went on, “but I guess I won’t.  Th’ Ramblin’ Kid’s got an entry and it looks like a darned shame for one outfit to want to hog it all and grab first and second money both, so I’ll stay out this time.”

“You talk pretty loud,” Dorsey snarled, catching instantly, as Chuck intended he should, the covert slur at the black Y-Bar stallion.  “Maybe your money won’t make so damned much noise!”

“Here’s a couple hundred,” Chuck said, pulling a roll of bills from his shirt pocket.  “I’ll invest that much on my judgment that Thunderbolt ain’t as good as you think he is.”

“I’ll take it!” Dorsey snapped, jerking a wad of money from his own pocket and counting out the amount which he handed to the clerk as stake-holder.  “And here’s another hundred—­or a thousand if you want it!”

“That two hundred is about all I can handle this morning,” Chuck laughed.  “But I understand Old Heck’s aiming to bet a little,” he drawled suggestively; “probably you’d like to see him?”