"I can't see very far with these glasses," said Hopwood, "and you'll have to tell me about it. Where is he now?"
"At the post," said the Kid. "The starter won't fool away much time with those ... there they go now! Good start."
"I can't see a thing! Where is he? How's he doing?"
"He broke flying and he's right up in front."
"That's good! That's fine!... And now? Where is he now?"
"Still up in front and winging, just winging. It's an exercise gallop for him. How much did you bet?"
Hopwood took off his glasses and fumbled at them with his handkerchief.
"Second, turning for home. He ought to win all by himself. They're choking to death behind him."
"And I didn't bet a cent!" wailed the owner. "But I said he was a good horse, remember?"
"Sure you did, and he ... oh, tough luck! Well, if that ain't a dirty shame!"
"What is it?" chattered Hopwood. "What happened?"
"They bumped him into the fence, I think.... Yes, he's dropping back. And it looked like a cinch for him, too!... I'm afraid he won't get anything this time.... Too bad! Well, that's racing luck for you. It's to be expected in this game. Sometimes you win and sometimes you lose. Good thing you didn't bet."
"I--I suppose so," gulped the unhappy owner. "Well, next time, eh?"
"That's the proper spirit! Keep after 'em!"
Hopwood put on his glasses in time to see the finish of the race. First came four horses, well bunched; after them the stragglers. Last of all a chestnut with four white stockings and a blaze galloped heavily through the dust, snorting his indignation. Last Chance had been hopelessly last all the way in spite of a rawhide tattoo on his flanks.
The Bald-faced Kid, wishing to forestall a conflict of evidence, made it his business to have the first word with the principal witness. He walked beside Little Calamity as that dispirited midget shuffled down the track from the judges' stand, saddle and tackle on his arm. Close behind them was Hopwood, leading the horse.
"Pretty tough luck," said the Kid, "getting bumped in the stretch when you had the race won." Little Calamity stared from under the peak of his cap in blank, uncomprehending amazement.
"Huh?" he grunted. "Bumped?... Aw, quitcha kiddin'!"
"Well," said the Kid, "the boss couldn't see and I was telling him about the race. It looked to me as if they bumped him."