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."