atter? Ain't the kid game to run him? Looks to me like a good little
goer."

"He's got a limp--but I'll run him anyway." Bud glanced up. "Maybe when
he's warmed up he'll forget about it."

"Seen my Skeeter?"

"Good horse, I should judge," Bud observed indifferently. "But I ain't
worrying any."

"Well, neither am I," Jeff grinned.

Pop stood teetering back and forth, plainly uneasy. "I'd rub him right
good with liniment," he advised Bud. "I'll git some't I know ought t'
help."

"What's the matter, Pop? You got money up on that cayuse?" Jeff laughed.

Pop whirled on him. "I ain't got money up on him, no. But if he wasn't
lame I'd have some! I'd show ye 't I admire gameness in a kid. I would
so."

Jeff nudged his neighbor into laughter. "There ain't a gamer old bird
in the valley than Pop," Jeff cried. "C'm awn, Pop, I'll bet yuh ten
dollars the kid beats me!"

Pop was shuffling hurriedly out of the corral after the liniment. To
Jeff's challenge he made no reply whatever. The group around Jeff shooed
Smoky gently toward the other side of the corral, thereby convincing
themselves of the limp in his right hind foot. While not so pronounced
as to be crippling, it certainly was no asset to a running horse, and
the wise ones conferred together in undertones.

"That there kid's a born fool," Dave Truman stated positively. "The
horse can't run. He's got the look of a speedy little animal--but
shucks! The kid don't know anything about running horses. I've been
talking to him, and I know. Jeff, you're taking the money away from him
if you run that race."

"Well, I'm giving the kid a chance to back out," Jeff hastened to
declare. "He can put it off till his horse gits well, if he wants to. I
ain't going to hold him to it. I never said I was."

"That's mighty kind of you," Bud said, coming up from behind with a
bottle of liniment, and with Pop at his heels. "But I'll run him just
the same. Smoky has favored this foot before, and it never seemed to
hurt him any. You needn't think I'm going to crawfish. You must think
I'm a whining cuss--say! I'll bet another ten dollars that I don't come
in more than a neck behind, lame horse or not!"

"Now, kid, don't git chancey," Pop admonished uneasily. "Twenty-five is
enough money to donate to Jeff."

"That's right, kid. I like your nerve," Jeff cut in, emphasizing his
approval with a slap on Bud's shoulder as he bent to lift Smoky's leg.
"I've saw worse horses than this one co