"I dunno but what I might be willin' to put up a few dollars
on that horse myself," he observed, "if you say he kin run.
You wouldn't go an' lie to an old feller like me, would yuh,
son?"
Bud offered him the cigarette he had just rolled. "No, I
won't lie to you, dad," he grinned. "You know horses too
well."
"Well, but kin he run? I want yore word on it."
"Well-yes, he's always been able to turn a cow," Bud admitted
cautiously.
"Ever run him fer money?" The old man began teetering from
his toes to his heels, and to hitch his shoulders forward and
back.
"Well, no, not for money. I've run him once or twice for fun,
just trying to beat some of the boys to camp, maybe."
"Sho! That's no way to do! No way at all!" The old man spat
angrily into the dust of the corral. Then he thought of
something. "Did yuh BEAT 'em?" he demanded sharply.
"Why, sure, I beat them!" Bud looked at him surprised, seemed
about to say more, and let the statement stand unqualified.
Grandpa stared at him for a minute, his blue eyes blinking
with some secret excitement. "Young feller," he began
abruptly, "lemme tell yuh something. Yuh never want to do a
thing like that agin. If you got a horse that can outrun the
other feller's horse, figure to make him bring yuh in
something--if it ain't no more'n a quarter! Make him BRING
yuh a little something.
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