“Right ye are,” said the man.  “How’s Chiquita getting along?”

“Ah, I’ve got yer now.  How did yer come out?  Middlin’ well, ter jedge from ther mule yer ridin’, an’ yer ginral appearance o’ prosperity.”

“You bet I be,” said the man, “an’ if it hadn’t been fer you I wouldn’t have been nowhere.  I’ve come a long ways ter hunt yer up, ter thank yer, an’ to get better acquainted with yer.”

“Well, ye’ve got me inter a heap o’ trouble,” said Bud, laughing.

“So I see, an’ I’ll help yer get out o’ it.  What seems ter be the trouble?”

“Well, old Chiquita, er Hatrack, ez ther boys in ther outfit calls him, won a race just now, an’ ther gamblers won’t stand by it.  They sent out word that Hatrack was a sure winner, an’—­”

“Same old thing.  Chiquita fooled them all.”

“I didn’t know he could do it myself, but I remembered what you said about him, an’ when an ole maverick come along an’ banters me fer a race I jest took him up, an’ this is how it come out.  He took us fer a bunch o’ gillies, an’ used us to try to fleece the people.”

“What’s his name?” asked the man on the Spanish mule softly.

“Cap Norris.”

“Oh, ole Pap Norris, eh?  Calls hisself Cap now, does he?”

“That’s what he does, an’ he’s a derned ole skin.”

“None skinnier.  But where is he?  I should like to see him.”

“He’s sashayin’ around here som’er’s attendin’ ter his dirty work.  Lookin’ after his grandson, little Willie, I reckon.”

“What, is that thief still hangin’ on to him?”

“Yes.  I see you seem to know him.”

“Know him!  Well, I should gurgle I do know him.  I thought every hoss man in the country knew him.  Little Willie, the orphaned grandson, is almost old enough to be a grandfather himself.  He’s an outlawed jockey, an’ he an’ Pap go about the country skinning countrymen and cow-punchers with his fake races.  He never won a square race in his life.  I should say I did know him.  Here he comes now.  Watch me wake him up.”

The old fellow was bustling up to the crowd.

“See here, young fellow, get ther gal offen that hoss, he’s mine, er as good as mine in a moment.  The jedges are goin’ ter award ther race ter me on account o’ ther foul,” he shouted to Bud.

“I reckon ther hoss stays right with me,” said Bud smoothly.  “But I want ter tell yer thet yer better bring in that magpie hoss so’s I kin git him quick.  He ain’t yours no more.”

“Come, come!  None o’ yer foolishness with me,” blustered the old man.  “Git ther gal off before she’s pulled off.”

“You or any other man put your finger on thet young lady if yer dare,” said Bud.  “Jest try it once if yer think I’m bluffin’, men.”

“Hello, Pap,” said the man on the Spanish mule.  “Up ter yer ole tricks, I see.”

The old man looked up at the man on the mule, then turned pale and slunk away without another word.