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Updated: May 26, 2025
And that reminds me: I bet fifty dollars for you to-day, and here's the two hundred. Run it up if you can, but remember what Solomon says about that: 'He that maketh haste to be rich shall not be innocent." "I'll take a chance," said the Bald-faced Kid, reaching for the money. "Son," said Old Man Curry, "what's on your mind besides your hat?
The Bald-faced Kid often boasted that everybody's business was his business a large contract on any race track of the Jungle Circuit. His stop watch told him what the horses were doing, and stableboys, bartenders, and waiters told him what their owners were doing, the latter vastly more important to the Kid. At all times he used his eyes, which were sharp as gimlets.
"I been photographed and interviewed till I'm black in the face," complained Old Man Curry, "and now you come along. You're worse than them confounded reporters!" "You bet I am," was the calm response of the Bald-faced Kid, "because I know more. And yet I don't know enough to satisfy me. Somebody played Elisha, and it wasn't me. You never went near the betting ring. I watched you." "My money did.
If you was right up against it and had a chance to grab off eating money, you wouldn't want anybody around knocking, would you? On the level?" He looked up as he finished, and the Bald-faced Kid's heart smote him.
His voice rang clear above the song. "Go to, thou bald-faced idolater! Israel will cease to do thy bidding one near day." The driver forced his way into the front ranks and began to lay about him with his knout. Instantly he was cast forth by a dozen brawny arms. "Mutiny!" he bawled. A group of drivers reinforced him at once. "By Bast," the foremost cried, as he came running.
"So have I," she said very soberly, and never said another word till we were safe and quiet in her day-room at the "Bald-Faced Stag." For over two hours I had Margaret to myself, and we were as happy and companionable as we had been in Dick Doley's cottage. And at this I marvelled.
When my voice was yet as a girl's, I slew the lynx, the moose, and the cariboo; when it whistled like the wolverines from under a cache, I crossed the Mountains of the South and slew three of the White Rivers; when it became as the roar of the Chinook, I met the bald-faced grizzly, but gave no trail. At this he paused, his hand significantly sweeping across his hideous scars.
Again the Vicar drove to the Bald-faced Stag, and again he walked along the road and over the common. He offered his arm to the old woman, but she wouldn't accept it; nor would she upon any entreaty allow him to carry her bundle. She assured him that his doing so would make her utterly wretched, and at last he gave up the point.
She was after that bald-faced steer, and in a moment she had him. The whirling noose dropped and in some wonderful way settled over a horn and one of the steer's forefeet. When Molly stopped and braced herself, the steer pitched forward, turned a complete somersault, and lay on the prairie at the mercy of his captor. "Hurray!" yelled Pratt, swinging his hat. He was riding recklessly himself.
A stranger spoke from the other side of the fire. "How's Grizzly River?" he asked. Bill turned to him with a smile. "Getting higher and higher. All the streams are up. You know that bald-faced bay of Fargo's?" Fargo was the Bradleyburg merchant, and the stranger knew the horse, one of the little band that, after the frontier custom, Fargo kept to rent. "Yes, I remember him."
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