Shorty quit snoring and rolled over. "Betche ten dollars, two to one,
he won't run," he said, digging his fists into his eyes like a baby.

Weary, dead game, took him up, though he knew what desperate chances he
was taking.

"Betche five dollars, even up, he runs backwards," grinned Happy Jack,
and Weary accepted that wager also.

The rest of the afternoon was filled with Glory--so to speak--and much
coin was hazarded upon his doing every unseemly thing that a horse can
possibly do at a race, except the one thing which he did do; which goes
to prove that Glory was not an ordinary cayuse, and that he had a
reputation to maintain. To the day of his death, it may be said, he
maintained it.

Dry Lake was nothing if not patriotic. Every legal holiday was
observed in true Dry Lake manner, to the tune of violins and the
swish-swish of slippered feet upon a more-or-less polished floor. The
Glorious Fourth, however, was celebrated with more elaborate
amusements. On that day men met, organized and played a matched game
of ball with much shouting and great gusto, and with an umpire who
aimed to please.

After that they arranged their horseraces over the bar of the saloon,
and rode, ran or walked to the quarter-mile stretch of level trail
beyond the stockyards to witness the running; when they would hurry
back to settle their bets over the bar where they had drunk to the
preliminaries.