Enright shook his head: “No we mightn’t, neither. First off, it would be playin’ it low down on the girl. An’ anyone that tries that game, him an’ I is goin’ to put in some spare time blackin’ one another’s eyes, an’ otherwise roughin’ things up. I’ve know’d that girl, a little better’n four year, an’ so has quite a lot of us--ever since she come into the country. She don’t like fer the Old Man to drink much--an’ that settles that. Onct an’ a while he gits stewed, but that’s his business, an’ not ourn. But even if anyone was to try I don’t think he could git another drink down Gordon this day. He’s the settest man there is, an’ he don’t aim to git drunk--leastwise till after the race.” “He might win it, at that,” said the mail carrier, hopefully. “’Tain’t hardly likely,” replied Enright. “Gordon he ain’t no hell of a dog musher, that anyone ever heard tell of, an’ the dogs would have to be jist nach’ly so damn good that they couldn’t lose before he could win. No, I guess we all kin kiss our dust good bye, er try to git it back bettin’ on some other race er fight, er wrastle.” “Can’t win it back off’n Dalzene,” growled Rim Rock, “He wouldn’t bet less’n he thought he had a sure thing.” A slow grin overspread Enright’s face as he eyed the speaker: “Yeh, but you know, on this here race we was kind of workin’ a little, what you might call, politics, ourself.” The outside door opened and the men turned casually to see the newcomer, when with a startled exclamation, Enright pushed hurriedly through the group, and passing the man without a word, disappeared through the door. “What in hell ails him?” asked Angel Crabb. “Busted out like he’d be’n sent fer, an’ had to go!” Johnny Atline joined the group, pinching icicles from his mustache. “Who’s outside, Johnny?” asked Rim Rock, “I ketched sight of a dog outfit when you shoved open the door. Must be someone Enright is plumb mindful to meet up with.” Before Atline could answer, Enright himself reentered the room. At the rear of the bar, Dalzene was still roaring his challenge between drinks. Enright drew his watch from his pocket and meticulously compared it with the bar-room clock. “Twenty minutes to four,” he muttered, incredulously, and then he repeated, still staring at the face of his watch, “_Twenty minutes to four!_” “Well, what’s so damn curious about twenty minutes to four?” asked the mail carrier, “It’s be’n twenty minutes to four, twict a day ever sence I kin remember, but I never heer’d no one ravin’ about it before.” “Oh, nothin’ much,” replied Enright, “Only, it’s jist exactly the time I aim to lay a bet.” Carelessly, he sauntered toward the rear of the room. Dalzene saw him coming, and a sneering grin twisted his lips. “Here’s the man with the team of six world beatin’ fish hounds!” he cried. “What’s the matter today, Enright, can’t you rake up five hundred more dollars, or has yer guts gone back on you?” “Still got some money left to bet?” drawled Enright.