“Begging will get you nothing better than a good drubbing, you filthy cattle lout! If you don't pay up your bets, we'll take it out of your hide. I, for one, have a special use for my money at the week's end.” It was Slick-heels Saul. Patty turned aside, sick at heart. This was the creature in whose power she was “like to fall.” Upon her return she found the old cowboy sitting dejectedly under a liveoak bush. “Sir,” she began timidly, “you are in trouble. I should like to express my sympathy.” He rose with suspicious nimbleness. “Now, bless your kind heart, Miss, to stop to console a sad old man.” “I overheard what Mr. Saul said to you, sir. He is--” “Without doubt, without doubt, he is everything you mention. Could you, now, be Mistress Patty Laughton, of Kentucky?” “Yes, sir.” “I knew your Grandfather Laughton, my child, and since I came here I have heard-of you,” he finished, with innate delicacy. Indeed, who had not heard her story? She opened her silken reticule and drew forth a small, buckskin bag. “Will you not accept it? Yesterday, at the claims, I panned it out myself. I am sorry for your plight. I am sorry for anyone in the clutches of Slick-heels Saul.” “But--. Can you--?” “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. “Yes,” said Eric, briefly. “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?” “I never spile sport, me boy.” It was the last day of the fiesta and the famous race was at hand. “There is the old cattle man with his vaqueros.” “Faith, they're a tough lookin' lot, all armed with a brace o' Colts apiece. 'Tis fun they'd have, cleanin' out a Fandango House.” “Patty, girl, you are pale today.” “Oh, Eric, 'tis the last day of grace. Heaven help us if--” “See, Patty, gir-r-rl, they're fixin' for the foot race between Cherokee Bob an' that Australian squirt fr'm Sacramento.” “Why are they placing men with guns every ten feet along the track?”