Last Chance. It ain't no crime for a man to bet on his own horse,
is it? He told me he'd give me a percentage of what he won. Maybe the
old crowbait will go better in the mud, and I'll ride him until his
eyes stick out a foot. We might accidentally get down there to the
judges' stand in front, and----"

"And still you haven't said anything," interrupted the Kid. "You want
something; what is it?"

"I want you not to queer the play. Hopwood won't bet much; like as
not he won't bet anything without putting it up to you first. It's my
last chance to pick up a piece of change----"

"Last chance on Last Chance," mused the Kid, "and that's a hunch, but
I wouldn't play it with counterfeit Confederate money."

"But if he comes to you, you won't knock it, will you?"

"I'll tell him that as an owner he ought to use his own judgment. If
he wants to bet, I'll see that he gets the top price."

"You _are_ a good guy!" said Little Calamity. "I think Last Chance
will be a better horse to-morrow--somehow."

The Bald-faced Kid shot a keen glance at the jockey.

"What do you mean, a better horse? A powder on his tongue, maybe?"

Calamity shook his head.

"I never hopped a horse; I wouldn't know how to go about it. If I
got to fooling with them speed powders I might give him too much and
have him climbing a tree on the way to the post.... Cheese it! Here
comes the boss!"

Hopwood entered, shaking the water from the brim of his hat, his
lower lip sagging and an angry light in his eye.

"Well," asked the Kid from the doorway, "what did Curry say?"

"Umph!" grunted the fat man, disgustedly. "He read me a chapter out
of Proverbs. It was all about the difference between a wise man and a
fool. Confound it! He needn't have rubbed it in!"

It was the last race of the day and from their sheltered pagoda the
judges looked out upon the river of mud which had been the home
stretch. Forty-eight hours of rain had turned it into a grand canal.
The presiding judge scowled as he examined the opening odds.
"Nonwinners, eh? Same old bunch of hounds. Grayling, 2 to 1; Ivy
Leaf, 4 to 1; Montezuma, 10 to 1; Bluestone, 10 to 1; Alibi, 15 to 1;
Stuffy Eaton, 25 to 1--and here's Last Chance again! I wonder where
Hopwood got that horse? Remember him, two years ago at Butte? I
thought he was pulling a junk wagon by now. Last Chance, 50 to 1.
Jockey Gillis; hm-m-m. There's a sweet combination for you! A horse
that can't untrack himself, a jockey that