hyar, Bostil," spoke up old Cal Blinn, "you jest wait till I git
an eye on the King's runnin'. Mebbe I'll go you even money."

"An' as fer me, Bostil," said Colson, "I ain't set up yit which hoss
I'll race."

Burthwait, an old rider, came forward to Brackton's desk and entered a
wager against the field that made all the men gasp.

"By George! pard, you ain't a-limpin' along!" ejaculated Bostil,
admiringly, and he put a hand on the other's shoulder.

"Bostil, I've a grand hoss," replied Burthwait. "He's four years old, I
guess, fer he was born wild, an' you never seen him."

"Wild hoss? ... Huh!" growled Bostil. "You must think he can run."

"Why, Bostil, a streak of lightnin' ain't anywheres with him."

"Wal, I'm glad to hear it," said Bostil, gruffly. "Brack, how many
hosses entered now for the big race?"

The lean, gray Brackton bent earnestly over his soiled ledger, while
the riders and horsemen round him grew silent to listen.

"Thar's the Sage King by Bostil," replied Brackton. "Blue Roan an' Peg,
by Creech; Whitefoot, by Macomber; Rocks, by Holley; Hoss-shoes, by
Blinn; Bay Charley, by Burthwait. Then thar's the two mustangs entered
by Old Hoss an' Silver--an' last--Wildfire, by Lucy Bostil."

"What's thet last?" queried Bostil.

"Wildfire, by Lucy Bostil," repeated Brackton.

"Has the girl gone an' entered a hoss?"

"She sure has. She came in to-day, regular an' business-like, writ her
name an' her hoss's--here 'tis--an' put up the entrance money."

"Wal, I'll be d--d!" exclaimed Bostil. He was astonished and pleased.
"She said she'd do it. But I didn't take no stock in her talk.... An'
the hoss's name?"

"Wildfire."

"Huh! ... Wildfire. Mebbe thet girl can't think of names for hosses!
What's this hoss she calls Wildfire?"

"She sure didn't say," replied Brackton. "Holley an' Van an' some more
of the boys was here. They joked her a little. You oughter seen the
look Lucy give them. But fer once she seemed mum. She jest walked away
mysterious like."

"Lucy's got a pony off some Indian, I reckon," returned Bostil, and he
laughed. "Then thet makes ten hosses entered so far?"

"Right. An' there's sure to be one more. I guess the track's wide
enough for twelve."

"Wal, Brack, there'll likely be one hoss out in front an' some
stretched out behind," replied Bostil, dryly. "The track's sure wide
enough."

"Won't thet be a grand race!" exclaimed an enthusiastic rider. "Wisht I
had about a millio