"It does not matter. Your extremity is greater than mine."
He stood looking after the slim girl who carried her head so high. "How like a Kentucky Laughton. Thoroughbred stock, all!" He tossed the bag in his hand. "'Tis why they are where they are today." Then his keen old eyes softened. "And why they are what they are, today. Bless her tender heart to stoop to an old cattle man in the mire. As for this - I must see Irish Mike," and he hurried off with surprising speed.
Bets rose. Every gambler had been apprised of the sure thing and flocked to the betting like bears to a honey tree.
"Have ye put up ye'r money, Eric?" asked Irish Mike, late the next night.
"Ah. So." Mike's shrewd gave slid from the young man's face.
"They do say that Slick-heels Saul is beginnin' to worry over the $20,000 he's staked. The shoestring gang have gathered in the information fr'm th' express agent that the auld cattle man owns a big Spanish grant down in the valley, and has $50,00 to his credit in certificates of deposit from the express company. 'Tis as good as gold."
"Mike, have you ever seen him before?"
It was the last day of the fiesta and the famous race was at hand.