standing on the outskirts of the council, "he isn't as young as he used to be."
"Well," said Larry, "there is one thing we can do. Play our best string the sixth, the pintos for the seventh and substitute Patches for Baldy, and then play our best string in the eighth."
"Man alive," ejaculated Big Bill, "you don't want to kill that hoss of yours, do you?"
"I don't think it would kill him," returned Larry confidently. "I don't think you gents know Patches. He is made of iron, he is one horse in a thousand, there won't anything kill him."
"Sounds mighty good to me," said Bill. "If you want to risk Patches we'll put her through."
"Now remember, gents," warned Big Bill, just before they mounted for the fifth chukker, "our policy is to feed the kid. He can shoot to beat anybody on our team and there ain't any hoss in these here parts that can touch Patches. So we'll feed the kid. And don't forget, gents, what we've been through in the last two days. This here polo game is a lady's promenade compared with it. Fellows that have ridden hell-bent through darkness as black as a stack of black cats, going God only knows where, at the head of a thousand fear-crazed steers ain't a-going to show the white feather in any polo game. So jest buck up, boys, and do your darndest."
