"The Frisco bunch is challengin' him for a professional," Billy
elucidated. "That's what they're all beefin' about. But it ain't
right. They all ran for that money, so they're all professional."

The crowd surged and argued and roared in front of the judges'
stand. The stand was a rickety, two-story affair, the second
story open at the front, and here the judges could be seen
debating as heatedly as the crowd beneath them.

"There she starts!" Bert cried. "Oh, you rough-house!"

The black-haired racer, backed by a dozen supporters, was
climbing the outside stairs to the judges.

"The purse-holder's his friend," Billy said. "See, he's paid him,
an' some of the judges is willin' an' some are beefin'. An' now
that other gang's going up--they're Redhead's." He turned to
Saxon with a reassuring smile. "We're well out of it this time.
There's goin' to be rough stuff down there in a minute."

"The judges are tryin' to make him give the money back," Bert
explained. "An' if he don't the other gang'll take it away from
him. See! They're reachin' for it now."

High above his head, the winner held the roll of paper containing
the twenty-five silver dollars. His gang, around him, was
shouldering back those who tried to seize the money. No blows had
been struck yet, but the struggle increased until the frail
structure shook and swayed. From the crowd beneath the winner was