"Do I git the job if I stick?" queried Pete nervously.

"Mebby," said Bailey.

Now Pete's watch was a long-suffering dollar watch that went when it
wanted to and ceased to go when it felt like resting. At present the
watch was on furlough and had been for several days. A good shake
would start it going--and once started it seemed anxious to make up for
lost time by racing at a delirious pace that ignored the sun, the
stars, and all that makes the deliberate progress of the hours. If
Pete could arrange it so that his riding could be timed by his own
watch, he thought he could win, with something to spare. After a wild
battle with the punchers, Blue Smoke was saddled with Pete's saddle.
He still fought the men. There was no time for discussion if Pete
intended to ride.

"Go to 'im!" cried Bailey.

Pete hitched up his chaps and crawled over the bars. "Jest time him
for me," said Pete, turning to the cowboy who held his watch.

The cowboy glanced at the watch, put it to his ear, then glanced at it
again. "The durn thing's stopped!" he asserted.

"Shake her," said Pete.

Pete slipped into the saddle. "Turn 'im loose!" he cried.

The men jumped back. Blue Smoke lunged and went at it. Pete gritted