Werther ran a finger under his collar apparently to facilitate
breathing. His eyes, roving wildly, wandered over the white, silent mass
of faces, and his glance picked out and lingered for a moment on the
big-shouldered figure of Drew, erect in his box. At last his glance came
back with an intent frown to Woodbury. Something in the keen eyes of the
laid raised a responsive flicker in his own.

"Well, I'll be damned! Just a game, eh? Lad, no matter on what side of
the Rockies you were born, I know your breed and I won't lay a penny
against your money. There's the hoss saddled and there's the floor
you'll land on. Go to it--and God help you!"

The other shook his shoulders back and stepped toward the horse with a
peculiarly unpleasant smile, like a pugilist coming out of his corner
toward an opponent of unknown prowess.

He said: "Take off the halter."

One of the men snapped viciously over his shoulder: "Climb on while the
climbing's good. Cut out the bluff, partner."

The smile went out on the lips of Woodbury. He repeated: "Take off the
halter."

They stared at him, but quickly began to fumble under the coat,
unfastening the buckle. It required a moment to work off the heavy
halter without giving the blinded animal a glimpse of the light; then
Woodbury caught the bridle reins firmly just beneath the chin of the
horse. With the other hand he took the stirrup strap and raised his
foot, but he seemed to change his mind about this matter.