New Britain herald., 1922-01-30
CHAPTER l.

IL was a land or spllnlered peaks, of deep, dry gorges, of barren mesas buIot by the suns of q million torrid summers. The normal condition of 1t was warfare. Life here had to pro- tect itself with n tough, callous rind. Only the fit survived.
 Around the campfire the drivers Of the trail herd squattcd on their heels or lay sprawled at indolcnt ease. The glow of the leaping flames from the twisted mesquite lit their lean faces. tanned to bronzed health by the beat Of an untempered sun and the sweep of parched winds.
 Out of the soft shadows of the summer night a boy moved from the remuda toward the campfire He was lean, sandy-haired young fellow, his figure still lank and unified. AS he sat down on the wagon tongue the stringiness of his appearance became noticeable.
 A young man waved a hand toward him by way of introduction. Gents of the D Bar Lazy R outfit, MT. David Sanders. formerly of Arizona. will make oration on the why where fore, and how-come-it of Chiquito's superiority to all other equines what ever"
 I'd like right we'll to make love to that pinto my own sef, Bob," con mented weather beaten puncher. Any old time Dave wants to saw him off onto me at sixty dollars I'm here to do business"
 You're sure an easy mark, Buck, " grunted a large fat man. His white face and soft hands differentiated him from the tough range-riders. He did not belong with the outfit, but had joined it the day before with George Doble, a half-brother of the trail foreman, to travel with it as far as Malapi He was known as Ad Miller.
 Doble backed up his partner. Sure are, Buck. I can get cowponies for ten and fifteen dollars-all I want of 'em," he said, and contrived by the lift of his lip to make the remark offensive.
 Not ponies like Chiquito," ven- tured Sanders amiably.
 Hes some bronc," explained Bob Hart. Got a bagful of tricks, nice disposition, and sure can burn the wind.''
 You don't say" The voice of the fat man was heavy with sarcasm, And on top of all that edjucation he can run, too"
 The temper of Sanders began to take an edge. II don't claim my pinto's a racer but he can travel.'
 limp" grunted Miller skeptically.
 Don't look to me like no raccer,' Doble dissented. Why. I'd be most willin' to be that pack-horse of ours, Whiskey Bill. can beat him.
 Dob Hart helped things along. I've got tena bucks says the pinto can beat yore Whiskey Bill"
 Co you once," answered Doble after a moments apparent consldera- tfon. II got fifty dollars more to back the pack-horse. How about It, Sanders? You got the sand to cover that?"
 "Betcha a months pay-thirtyfive dollars" retorted Dave.
 Might as we'll lose a few bucks myself, seeing as Whiskey Bill be- longs to me-" said Miller with his wheezy laugh Who wants to take a whirl, boys?"
 Inside of three minutes he had nlaced a hundred dollars. The terms of the race were arranged and the money put in the hands of the fore man.
 An hour later Buck Byington drew Sanders aside.
 "Dave, you're a chuckle- -haided rab- bit, If ever I seen tinhorn sports them two is such They're collectin' a liyin' off'n suckers. Didn't you sabe that come-on stuff? Their packhorse is a ringer Both of 'em are crooked as a dogs hind laig.
 "Maybeso," admitted the young man. But Chiquito never went back on me vet. These fellows may be overplayin' their hand, don't you reckon?"
 Not a chanct That tumblebug Miller is one f1shy proposition, and his sidekick Doble-say, he's the kind of bird that shoots you in the stomach while he's shakin' hands with you. Me, I aim to button up my pocket when them guys are around"
 CHAPTER II.
 course was chosen for the race, From a selected point the horses were to run to clump of mesquite, round 1t. and return to the starting place Dug Doble was chosen both starter and judge.
 Dave watched Whiskey Bill with the trained eyes of a horseman. The animal was an ugly brute as to the