"Didn't I jest tell yeh I was bettin' agin' you?"

"Don't bet enough to hurt you none. How much you got, three dollars?
An' how much odds you got to get before you'll risk 'em?"

Purdy reached for his hip pocket. "Jest to show yeh what I think of
yer ridin' I'll bet yeh even yeh don't win."

"Well," drawled the Texan, "seein' as they won't be only about ten
fellows ride, that makes the odds somewhere around ten to one, which is
about right. How much you want to bet?"

With his fingers clutching his roll of bills, Purdy's eyes sought the
face of Cinnabar Joe. For an instant he hesitated and then slammed the
roll onto the bar.

"She goes as she lays. Count it!"

The bartender picked up the money and ran it through. "Eighty-five,"
he announced, laconically.

"That's more'n I got on me," said Tex ruefully, as he smoothed out
three or four crumpled bills and capped the pile with a gold piece.

Purdy sneered: "It's money talks," he repeated truculently. "'Tain't
hardly worth while foolin' with no piker bets but if that's the best
yeh c'n do I'll drag down to it." He reached for his roll.

"Hold on!" The Texan was still smiling but there was a hard note in his