I am prepared to trust
them. Why not? Should they attempt to escape with my money when
Panchito wins--as win he will--I would quickly stop those fine
fellows." He tapped his left side under the arm-pit, and while the
policeman was too lazy and indifferent to feel this spot himself, he
assumed that a pistol nestled there.
"I will myself guard your bet," he promised.
They had reached the two book-makers and the policeman promptly
communicated to them Don Mike's ultimatum. The pair exchanged glances.
"If we don't take this lunatic's money," one of them suggested
presently, "some other brave man will. I'm game."
"It's a shame to take it, but--business is business," his companion
laughed. Then to the policeman: "How much is our high-toned Mexican
friend betting and what odds does he expect?"
The policeman put the question. The high-toned Mexican gentleman bowed
elaborately and shrugged deprecatingly. Such a little bet! Truly, he
was ashamed, but the market for steers down south had been none too
good lately, and as for hides, one could not give them away. The
American gentlemen would think him a very poor gambler, indeed, but
twelve hundred and twenty-eight dollars was his limit, at odds of ten
to one. If they did not care to trifle with such a paltry bet, he
could not blame them, but--
"Holy Mackerel. Ten to one. Joe, this is like shooting fish on a
hillside.
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