You're going to laugh in a minute." When Jerry still remained thoughtful, Bud added soberly, "I appreciate you and old Pop standing by me.

I don't know just what you've got on your mind, but the fact that there's something is hint enough for me." Whereupon Jerry's eyes lightened a little.
The four horses came thundering down the track, throwing tiny pebbles high into the air as they passed.

A trim little sorrel won, and there was the usual confusion of voices upraised in an effort to be heard.
When that had subsided, interest once more centered on Skeeter and Smoky, who seemed to have recovered somewhat from his lameness.
Not a man save Pop and Bud had placed a bet on Smoky, yet every man there seemed keenly interested in the race.

They joshed Bud, who grinned and took it good-naturedly, and found another five dollars in--his pocket to bet--this time with Pop, who kept eyeing him sharply--and it seemed to Bud warningly.

But Bud wanted to play his own game, this time, and he avoided Pop's eyes.
The two men rode down the hoof-scored sand to the quarter post, Skeeter dancing sidewise at the prospect of a race, Smoky now and then tentatively against Bud's steady pressure of the bit.
"He's not limping now," Bud gloated as they rode.