y justified by the quality of the goods
dispensed. While taking the drink, the old man was lamenting his
poverty, which kept him from betting more money, and after we had gone
outside, the saloonkeeper came and said to him, in a burst of generous
feeling,--

"Old sport, you're a stranger to me, but I can see at a glance that
you're a dead game man. Now, if you need any more money, just give me
a bill of sale of your mare and mule, and I'll advance you a hundred.
Of course I know nothing about the merits of the two horses, but I
noticed your team as you drove up to-day, and if you can use any more
money, just ask for it."

The old man jumped at the proposition in delighted surprise; the two
reentered the tent, and after killing considerable time in writing out
a bill of sale, the old graybeard came out shaking a roll of bills at
us. He was promptly accommodated, Bull Durham making the first bet of
fifty; and as I caught his eye, I walked away, shaking hands with
myself over my crafty scheme. When the old man's money was all taken,
the hangers-on of the place became enthusiastic over the betting, and
took every bet while there was a dollar in sight amongst our crowd,
the horse buyer even making a wager. When we were out of money they
offered to bet against our saddles, six-shooters, and watches. Flood
warned us not to bet our saddles, but Quarternight and Stallings had
already wagered theirs, and were stripping them from their horses to
turn them over to the saloonkeeper as stakeholder. I managed to get a
ten-dollar bet on my six-shooter, though it was worth double the
money, and a similar amount on my watch. When the betting ended, every
watch and six-shooter in the outfit was in the hands of the
stakeholder, and had it not been for Flood our saddles would have been
in the same hands.

It was to be a three hundred yard race, with an ask and answer start
between the riders. Stallings and the old man stepped off the course
parallel with the river, and laid a rope on the ground to mark the
start and the finish. The sun had already set and twilight was
deepening when the old man signaled to his boy in the distance to
bring up the mare. Wheat was slowly walking the brown horse over the
course, when the boy came up, cantering the mare, blanketed with an
old government blanket, over the imaginary track also. These
preliminaries thrilled us like the tuning of a fiddle for a dance.
Stallings and the old homesteader went out t