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"Ten to one on Harrington!" bawled the Birch Creek King, flourishing his sack in the lieutenant's face. "Covaire the bet," Joy prompted. He obeyed, shrugging his shoulders in token that he yielded, not to the dictate of his reason, but to her charm. Joy nodded to reassure him. All noise ceased. Men paused in the placing of bets.
He exposed his sack. She gauged it with a rapid eye. "Mebbe say two hundred, eh? Good. Now I give what you call the tip. Covaire the bet." Joy smiled inscrutably. The lieutenant pondered. He glanced up the trail. The two men had risen to their knees and were lashing their dogs furiously, Harrington in the lead.
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