The men were more cold-blooded.
They could not see that Bud's good looks or the haunting melody of his voice had any bearing whatever upon his winning a race.

They called him a fool, and either refused to bet at all on such a freak proposition as a lame horse running against Skeeter, or bet against him.

A few of the wise ones wondered if Jeff and his bunch were merely "stringing the kid along "; if they might not let him win a little, just to make him more "chancey." But they did not think it wise to bet on that probability.
While three races were being run Bud rode with the Little Lost men, and Smoky still limped a little.

Jerry Myers, still self-appointed guardian of Bud, herded him apart and called him a fool and implored him to call the race off and keep his money in his own pocket.
Bud was thinking just then about a certain little woman who sat on the creek bank with a wide-brimmed straw hat shading her wonderful eyes, and a pair of little, high-arched feet tapping heels absently against the bank wall.

Honey sat beside her, and a couple of the valley women whom Bud had met at the dance.