"All right; you can't throw a good horse off his feed by cutting out one meal." Jack Townsend faced his guest, rubbing his many-folded chin. "Don't take long for this mountain air to brace up a gent, does it?" he asked rather pointedly. "I'll tell you what," said Connor. "It isn't the air so much; it's the people that do a fellow good." "Well," admitted the proprietor modestly, "they may be something in that. Kind of heartier out here, ain't they? More than in the city, I guess. I'll tell you what," he added. "I'll go out and speak to the missus about a snack for you. It's late, but we like to be obligin'." He climbed carefully down from the box and started away. "That girl again," thought Connor, and snapped his fingers. His spirits continued to rise, if that were possible, during the breakfast of ham and eggs, and coffee of a taste so metallic that only a copious use of cream made it drinkable. Jack Townsend, recovering to the full his customary good nature, joined his guest in a huge piece of toast with a layer of ham on it--simply to keep a stranger from eating alone, he said--and while he ate he talked about the race. Connor had noticed that the lobby was almost empty. "They're over lookin' at the hosses," said Townsend, "and gettin' their bets down." Connor laid down knife and fork, and resumed them hastily, but thereafter his interest in his food was entirely perfunctory. From the corner of his eye a gleam kept steadily upon the face of Townsend, who continued: "Speaking personal, Mr. Connor, I'd like to have you look over them hosses yourself." Connor, on the verge of speech, checked himself with a quick effort. "Because," continued Townsend, "if I had your advice I might get down a little stake on one of 'em. You see?" Ben Connor paused with a morsel of ham halfway toward his lips. "Who told you I know anything about horses?" he asked. "You told me yourself," grinned the proprietor, "and I'd like to figure how you knew the mare come from the Ballor Valley." "From which?" "From the Ballor Valley. You even named the irrigation and sand and all that. But you'd seen her brand before, I s'pose?" "Hoofs like hers never came out of these mountains," smiled Ben Connor. "See the way she throws them and how flat they are." "Well, that's true," nodded Jack Townsend. "It seems simple, now you say what it was, but it had me beat up to now. That is the way with most things. Take a fine hand with a rope. He daubs it on a cow so dead easy any fool thinks he can do the same. No, Mr. Connor, I'd still like to have you come out and take a look at them hosses. Besides"--he lowered his voice--"you might pick up a bit of loose change yourself. They's a plenty rolling round to-day." Connor laughed, but there was excitement behind his mirth. "The fact is, Townsend," he said, "I'm not interested in racing now. I'm up here for the air."