"What news, Don Miguel?" Pablo ventured presently.
"We will win, Pablo."
"_Valgame dios_! I will wager my fortune on Panchito. Here it is, Don
Miguel--one hundred and eighty dollars. I know not the ways of these
Gringo races, but if the stakeholder be an honest man and known
personally to you, I will be your debtor forever if you will graciously
consent to attend to this detail for me."
"With pleasure, Pablo."
Carolina drew her soiled little tobacco bag from her bosom, bit the
string in two and handed bag and contents to her master, who nodded and
thrust it in his pocket.
Two tiers up and directly in back of Don Miguel and his guests, two men
glanced meaningly at each other.
"Did you twig that?" one of them whispered. "That crazy Greaser is a
local favorite, wherever he comes from. Those two monks and that
_cholo_ and his squaw are giving him every dollar they possess to bet
on this quarter horse entered in a long race, and I'll bet five
thousand dollars he'll drop it into that machine, little realizing that
every dollar he bets on his horse here will depress the odds
proportionately."
"It's a shame, Joe, to see all that good money dropping into the maw of
those Paris Mutuel sharks. Joe, we ought to be kicked if we allow it."
"Can you speak Spanish?"
"Not a word."
"Well, let's get an interpreter. That Tia Juana policeman yonder will
do.
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