Bud passed up a very good chance to win on other races, and centred all his betting on Smoky.

He had been throughout the week boastful and full of confidence, and now he swaggered and lifted his voice in arrogant challenge to all and sundry.
His three hundred dollars was on the race, and incidentally, he never left Smoky from the time he led him up from pasture until the time came when he and Jeff Hall rode side by side down to the quarter post.
They came up in a small whirlwind of speed and dust, and Smoky was under the wire to his ears when Skeeter's nose showed beyond it.

Little Lost was jubilant.

Jeff Hall and his backers were not.
Bud's three hundred dollars had in less than a minute increased to a little over nine hundred, though all his bets had been moderate.

By the time he had collected, his pockets were full and his cocksureness had increased to such an unbearable crowing that Jeff Hall's eyes were venomous as a snake's.