"That happened in Cunjee some years ago," said Mr. Linton. "A bookmaker
appeared from goodness knows where, and struck a very solid patch of bad
luck. All the district seemed to know how to pick winners that day,
and he lost solidly on every race. He plunged a bit on the fourth race,
hoping to get his money back; but that was worse still, and when he
saw the favourite winning, he knew he had no hope of settling up. So he
quietly collected his horse, which he had tied up in a convenient
place, in case it was wanted in a hurry, and made tracks before the race
finished."
"What happened to him?" asked Bob.
Mr. Linton chuckled.
"Well, he added considerably to the excitement of the day. Some one
saw him going, and passed the word round, and every man to whom he owed
money--and they were many--ran for his horse and went after him. He had
a good start, and no one knew what road he would take, so it was quite
a cheery hunt. I think it was Dave Boone who tracked him at last, and he
paused at a cross-roads, and coo-eed steadily until he had a number
of followers. Then they set sail after the poor bookie, and caught
him about seven or eight miles away. They found he had practically no
money--not nearly enough to divide up; so they took what he had and
presented it to the Cunjee Hospital, and finished up the day happily by
tarring and feathering the bookie, and riding him on a fence rail round
Cunjee that night!"
"What do your police do in a case like that?" Bob asked.
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