Again Felipe lowered his eyes. But now to consider suspicions. He had heard rightly; Franke really wanted to bet all he had. But he could not but wonder whether Franke, by any possible chance, knew in advance the outcome of the affair in the trail. He had heard of such things, though never had he believed them possible. Yet he found himself troubled with insistent reminder that Franke had suggested this whole thing. Then suddenly he was gripped in another unwelcome thought. Could it be possible that this scheming _hombre_, awaking at a time when he himself was soundest asleep, had gone out into the trail on tiptoe for advance information? It was possible. Why not? But that was not the point exactly. The point was, had he done it? Had this buzzard circled out into the trail while he himself was asleep? He did not know, and he could not decide! For the third time in ten hours, though puzzled and groping, trembling between gain and loss, he plunged on the gambler's chance. "All right!" he agreed, tensely. "I take thot bet! I bet you thees wagon, thees _caballos_, thees harness--everyt'ing--against everyt'ing yours--wagon, horses, harness--everyt'ing! Wait!" he thundered, for the other now was striding toward the mare. "Wait! You in too mooch hurry yourself now!" Then, as the other returned: "Is eet a bet? Is eet a bet?" The fellow-townsman nodded. Whereat Felipe nodded approval of the nod, and stepped out into the trail, followed by the other. It was night, and quite a dark night. Stretching away to east and west, the dimly outlined trail was lost abruptly in engulfing darkness; while, overhead, a starless sky, low and somber and frowning, pressed close. But, dark though the night was, it did not wholly conceal the outlines of the mare. She was standing as they approached, mildly encouraging a tiny something beside her, a wisp of life, her baby, who was struggling to insure continued existence. And it was this second outline, not the other and larger outline, that held the breathless attention of the men. Nervously Felipe struck a match. As it flared up he stepped close, followed by the other, and there was a moment of tense silence. Then the match went out and Felipe straightened up. "Franke," he burst out, "I haf win thee bet! Eet is not a mare; eet is a li'l' horse!" He struck his _compadre_ a resounding blow on the back. "I am mooch sorry, Franke," he declared--"not!" He turned back to the faint outline of the colt. "Thees _potrillo_," he observed, "he's bringin' me mooch good luck! He's--" He suddenly interrupted himself, aware that the other was striding away. "Where you go now, Franke?" he asked, and then, quick to sense approaching trouble: "Never mind thee big bet, Franke! You can pay me ten dolars soom time! All right?" There was painful silence. "All right!" came the reply, finally, through the darkness.