ter Circle KT fellers going in on anything at the Rodeo,
this year?" one of the Y-Bar riders asked Skinny before Dorsey could
reply.

"Charley said he might go in on the 'bull-dogging' and Bert is figuring
some on the bucking events--but I don't reckon they'll either one
enter," Skinny carelessly; "both of them got first money in them
entries last year and they ain't caring much. The Mexican," referring to
Pedro, "will probably do some roping--"

"What about you and the Ramblin' Kid?" Flip Williams interrupted, "ain't
neither of you going to take part?"

"Probably not," Skinny drawled. "I ain't aiming to, and I don't know
what th' Ramblin? Kid is figuring on. He ain't much for showing off. He
only rode in the bucking contest last year because after that Cyclone
horse killed Dick Stanley everybody said there wasn't any one that could
ride him and the blamed little fool just wanted to demonstrate that
there was. You never can tell what he'll do, though. He may be intending
to go in on something or other."

"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 Quarte