In the midst of the talk and laughter Dave led out Boise freshly curried and brushed and arching his neck proudly.
"No use, Bud," he said tolerantly.

"I guess you're set back that forfeit money--unless you want to go through the motions of running a lame horse." "No, sir, I'm not going to hand over any forfeit money without making a fight for it!" Bud told him, anger showing in his voice.

"I'm no such piker as that.

I won't run Smoky, lame as he is "-- Bud probably nudged his own ribs when he said that!--"but if you'll make it a mile, I'll catch up my old buckskin packhorse and run the race with him, by thunder! He's not the quickest horse in the world, but he sure can run a long while!" They yelled and slapped one another on the back, and otherwise comported themselves as though a great joke had been told them; never dreaming, poor fools, that a costly joke was being perpetrated.
"Go it, kid.

You run your packhorse, and I'll rive yuh five to one on him!" a friend of Jeff Hall's yelled derisively.
"I'll just take you up on that, and I'll make it one hundred dollars," Bud shouted back.