dropped
Bud's arm.

Bud stopped. "There was a man riding off in the brush," he said bluntly,
"and all the folks that came to the dance rode in through the front
gate. I reckon I'll just take a look where I left my saddle, anyway."

"That might have been some loose stock," Jerry argued, but Bud went
back, wondering a little at Jerry's manner.

The saddle was all right, and so was everything else, so far as Bud
could determine in the dark, but he was not satisfied. He thought he
understood Jerry's reason for bringing him down to the corrals, but he
could not understand Jerry's attitude toward an incident which any man
would have called suspicious.

Bud quietly counted noses when he returned to the house and found that
supper was being served, but he could not recall any man who was missing
now. Every guest and every man on the ranch was present except old Pop,
who had a little shack to himself and went to bed at dark every night.

Bud was mystified, and he hated mysteries. Moreover, he was working for
Dave Truman, and whatever might concern Little Lost concerned him also.
But the men had begun to talk openly of their various "running horses",
and to exchange jibes and boasts and to bet a little on Sunday's races.
Bud wanted to miss nothing of that, and Jerry's indifference to the
incident at the stable served to reassure him for the time being. He
edged close to the group where the talk was loudest, and listened.

A man they called Jeff was trying to jeer his neighbors into betting
against a horse called Skeeter, and was finding them too cautious for
his liking. He laughed and, happening to catch Bud's eyes upon him,
strode forward with an empty tin cup in his hand and slapped Bud
friendliwise on the shoulder.

"Why, I bet this singin' kid, that don't know wha I got ner what you
fellers has got, ain't scared to take, a chance. Are yuh, kid? What d'
yuh think of this pikin' bunch here that has seen Skeeter come in second
and third more times 'n what he beat, and yet is afraid to take a chance
on rosin' two bits? Whatd' yuh think of 'em? Ain't they an onery bunch?"

"I suppose they hate to lose," Bud grinned.

"That's it--money 's more to 'em than the sport of kings, which is
runnin' horses. This bunch, kid belly-ached till Dave took his horse
Boise outa the game, and now, by gosh, they're backin' up from my
Skeeter, that has been beat more times than he won.'

"When you pulled him, Jeff!" a mocking voice drawle