Even if the Ramblin' Kid was not found Sabota and his crowd should not be allowed to win by dirty work--if dirty work had been done! At the stall Carolyn June sprang from Red John. Bert was nervously walking about, calling occasionally the name of the missing Quarter Circle KT cowboy. "Have you found him?" Carolyn June asked as Skinny and Chuck came up behind her. "No," Bert answered glumly, "he ain't showed up yet! There ain't no signs of him around here." "What'll we do?" Skinny asked excitedly. "The race is almost ready to start and--do you reckon you could ride the filly, Bert?" he finished with a gleam of hope. "I doubt it, but, well, I'll try her--if Captain Jack'll let me get her out." "You boys keep back!" Carolyn June interrupted, stepping to the door of the stall and opening it, "Captain Jack knows me and--I--I--think the filly does, too--I can handle her--" as she stepped boldly inside the compartment with the horses. "Don't go in there!" Skinny cried, "Car--Carolyn June, they'll kill you!" "You boys keep away!" she laughed. "And don't get the horses nervous! They won't hurt me!" she answered, going ahead toward the animals. Captain Jack looked at her suspiciously an instant "Jack-Boy--Jack-Boy!" she called with a caress in her voice. "Careful! We're friends!" The attitude of the stallion changed instantly and the menace was gone from his eyes. The Gold Dust maverick heard the voice and with a friendly little nicker rubbed her head against the outstretched hand. In a corner was the Ramblin' Kid's saddle, bridle, blanket and worn leather chaps. With a light pat of the outlaw filly's cheek Carolyn June turned and began quickly and deftly putting the riding gear on the beautiful mare. * * * * * For an hour and a half the Ramblin' Kid lay as he had fallen when he started to hand the coffee cup back to Gyp. Breathing heavily, his face flushed, he was as one in the deep stupor of complete intoxication. At last he stirred uneasily. An unconscious groan came from his lips. His eyes opened. In them was a dazed, puzzled look. Where was he? He tried vainly to remember--the clean life, the iron constitution and youth--aided perhaps by an indomitable subconscious will protesting against this something that had happened to him--were throwing off the effects of the drug hours before an ordinary man would have regained even a hint of sensibility.