The jedges are goin' ter award ther race ter
me on account o' ther foul," he shouted to Bud.
"I reckon ther hoss stays right with me," said Bud smoothly. "But I want
ter tell yer thet yer better bring in that magpie hoss so's I kin git
him quick. He ain't yours no more."
"Come, come! None o' yer foolishness with me," blustered the old man.
"Git ther gal off before she's pulled off."
"You or any other man put your finger on thet young lady if yer dare,"
said Bud. "Jest try it once if yer think I'm bluffin', men."
"Hello, Pap," said the man on the Spanish mule. "Up ter yer ole tricks,
I see."
The old man looked up at the man on the mule, then turned pale and
slunk away without another word.
"Men," said the man on the mule, addressing the crowd, "you've been
stung. This old bag o' bones is Chiquita, the best race horse ever
produced in Mexico, an' I brought him over here, where I traded him for
a plain cayuse an' gave something ter boot. If any o' you men know
anything about hosses ye'll recognize ther great Chiquita, what made an'
lost more money fer ther people o' Mexico than any one other thing.
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