improvements and running
expenses, for the other cattle I bought. I've got the vouchers, if you
want to see them."

"I don't want to see them."

"There is still something left," Garth said, his voice careless, his
eyes glancing up at Shandon and down again. "It's still in my name.
About four thousand."

"Good boy," cried Wayne. "That's going to save me some trouble. Will
you give me a check for it, Garth?"

"It's yours," Garth replied, going to look for pass book and check
book. But when he returned he could not refrain from asking, "What are
you going to do with it, Wayne?"

"Double it!" laughed Shandon. "Bet it on a horse race, my boy! But
look here," seriously. "I want only five thousand. Counting the other
fifteen hundred there's something over that. You've been working like
a dog for a year, drawing just foreman's wages while you've been taking
the owner's responsibilities. I'm going to shove the other five
hundred down your throat as the rest of the unpaid wages due you, or a
bonus or whatever you like to call it."

And as Garth's momentary stupefaction was followed by what threatened
to be very profuse thanks, Shandon fled to the stable and Little Saxon.

Already word of the race to be run in the springtime, in June when the
snows would be gone, had travelled up and down the country. Sledge
Hume's money was in the hands of Charlie Granger at El Toyon, and the
order signed by him to turn over the five thousand dollars to the man
who came in first, himself or Wayne Shandon, containing the clause
which he had insisted upon, making it clear that if only one man
entered the race he was to take the money.

Five thousand dollars wagered on a single race; Red Reckless and Sledge
Hume riding; Endymion, who had already shown those who knew him that
for beauty and speed and endurance he was the peer of his aristocratic,
thoroughbred sire and dam; Little Saxon, whom men knew yet only as a
wild hearted colt being tamed by a man who knew horses and who was
willing to lay five thousand on him against his brother; the course a
ten mile sweep of mountain and valley, of broken trail and grassy
meadow, leading from the high lands to the east of Bar L-M and Echo
Creek, ending at the Bar L-M corrals; this one event was enough to draw
the attention of men up and down the cattle country, in the mining
towns and lumber camps. Word of it went everywhere; letters came to
Wayne Shandon from other men who had horses,