Just once Bud struck, and was ashamed of the blow as it fell.

Smoky did not need that urge, but he flattened his ears and came down the track a full length ahead of Skeeter, and held the pace to the wire and beyond, where he stopped in a swirl of sand and went prancing back, ready for another race if they asked it of him.
"Guess Dave'll have to bring out Boise and take the swellin' outa that singin' kid's pocket," a hardfaced man shouted as Jeff slid off Skeeter and went over to where his cronies stood bunched and conferring earnestly together.
"Not to-day, he needn't.

I've had all the excitement I want; and I'd like to have time to count my money before I lose it," Bud retorted.
"Next Sunday, if it's a clear day and the sign is right, I might run against Boise if it's worth my while.

Say, Jeff, seeing you're playing hard luck, I won't lick you for what you called me.

And just to show my heart's right, I'll lend you Skeeter to ride home.