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Updated: June 12, 2025
As Judge Ivory pocketed the money Dorsey and Flip Williams stepped into the pool-room. Sabota glanced up. "These Quarter Circle KT hombres are getting bad," he laughed sneeringly to Dorsey; "they think th' Ramblin' Kid's got a colt that can beat Thunderbolt!" "The Ramblin' Kid must have a hell of a fast horse!"
Mike Sabota immediately singled out the Quarter Circle KT group and began jollying them about the coming two-mile sweepstakes. Dorsey and Flip Williams had been in the pool-room earlier in the evening and told him of the Ramblin' Kid's entry of the filly against the Thunderbolt horse.
Tom Poole arrested him, but th' Ramblin' Kid got the drop on him and got away. He was justified in beating Sabota up anyhow," he added, "on account of the dirty cuss hiring a feller to 'dope' him so he couldn't ride the maverick the day of the big race " "'Dope' him?" Old Heck interrupted, puzzled. "Yes," Skinny explained, "the Greek had a feller named Gyp Streetor put some stuff in th' Ramblin?
Sabota threw his right arm around the back of his antagonist, gripping the shoulder on the far side of his body and drew the slender form toward him pinning the Ramblin' Kid's left arm and hand to his side. Skinny's hand dropped to the butt of his gun and rested there. The Ramblin' Kid struggled desperately in the strangling grasp of the crazed Greek.
"Keep back, y' sons-of-hell!" he snarled, "Sabota's gettin' what's coming to him!" The Greek's eyes opened. His fingers touched the butt of the Ramblin' Kid's revolver and began to close slowly over the handle of the weapon. "Make him quit," one of the pool-room loafers whined; "he's killed him!" The Ramblin' Kid saw Sabota reach for the gun.
When the Clagstone "Six" whirled past the Amusement Parlor a few moments later Dorsey and Sabota were standing in the door. Carolyn June glanced at them. "Heavens," she said as her eyes rested an instant on the burly, low-browed, Greek proprietor of the place, "what a big brute of a looking fellow that is!"
"Wasn't that what made th' Ramblin' Kid kill the Greek?" "No, it was something else," Skinny answered; "but Sabota ain't dead. He's just crunched up pretty bad th' Ramblin' Kid jumped on him, like Captain Jack did on that feller from the Chickasaw that tried to steal him!" Skinny's mind was in a whirl. So the Ramblin' Kid was not drunk the day of the race!
The crowd in the pool-room instinctively kept far back and gave the unequal combatants ample room. From Sabota's lips poured a steady torrent of blasphemy. The Ramblin' Kid made no sound as, with body swaying slowly from side to side, his shoulders heaved with the full, heavy breaths that reached to the bottom of his lungs. Suddenly, like some wild beast, Sabota sprang forward.
Dorsey, who was standing with Mike Sabota, in a box-seat just below the judges' stand, shouted as he saw the Ramblin' Kid, even in his half-conscious condition, reining the Gold Dust maverick with consummate skill into position, "her rider's drunk!" The Ramblin' Kid heard the voice and by some miracle of the mind recognized it, although his eyes, set and glassy, could not see the speaker.
A laugh started from the lips of the crowd. It was instantly checked and a dead silence followed as the Ramblin' Kid looked around, saw Sabota leering down at the trinket and heard his vulgar insinuation.
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