f
the box, vaulted lightly into the arena, and walked straight toward the
horse.

CHAPTER II

SPORTING CHANCE

It might easily have been made melodramatic by any hesitation as he
approached, but, with a businesslike directness, he went right up to the
men who held the fighting horse.

He said: "Put a saddle on him, boys, and I'll try my hand."

They could not answer at once, for Werther's "pet," as if he recognized
the newcomer, made a sudden lunge and was brought to a stop only after
he had dragged his sweating handlers around and around in a small
circle. Here Werther himself came running up, puffing with surprise.

"Son," he said eagerly, "I'm not aiming to do you no harm. I was only
calling the bluff of those four-flushers."

The slender youth finished rolling up his left sleeve and smiled down at
the other.

"Put on the saddle," he said.

Werther looked at him anxiously; then his eyes brightened with a
solution. He stepped closer and laid a hand on the other's arm.

"Son, if you're broke and want to get the price of a few squares just
say the word and I'll fix you. I been busted myself in my own day, but
don't try your hand with my hoss. He ain't just a buckin' hoss; he's a
man-killer, lad. I'm tellin' you straight. And this floor ain't so soft
as the sawdust makes it look," he ended with a grin.

The younger man considered the animal seriously.

"I'm not broke; I've simply taken a fancy to your horse. If you don't
mind, I'd like to try him out. Seems too bad, in a way, for a brute like
that to put it over on ten thousand people without getting a run for his
money--a sporting chance, eh?"

And he laughed with great good nature.

"What's your name?" asked Werther, his small eyes growing round and
wide.

"Anthony Woodbury."

"Mine's Werther."

They shook hands.

"City raised?"

"Yes."

"Didn't know they came in this style east of the Rockies, Woodbury. I
hope I lose my thousand, but if there was any betting I'd stake ten to
one against you."

In the meantime, some of the range-riders had thrown a coat over the
head of the stallion, and while he stood quivering with helpless rage
they flung a saddle on and drew the cinches taut.

Anthony Woodbury was saying with a smile: "Just for the sake of the
game, I'll take you on for a few hundred, Mr. Werther, if you wish, but
I can't accept odds."

Werther ran a finger under his collar apparently to facilitate
breathing. His eyes, rovi