owd by this time had become absolutely dense. Murray was
suddenly dragged away by a current in the mob which set towards a
book-maker who had chalked up "even money, Maid Marian."

I followed long enough to see the "booky" change again to "4 to 5"
before Murray reached him; and then, believing myself about to be
crushed to death, I forced my way to the edge of the ring and stood
hoping that my friend would do likewise.

A very "horsey" individual, wearing an owner's badge, and a most
disreputable-looking negro were discussing the forthcoming race just
behind me.

"Dat Maid Marian ain't got no license to win dis race--a mile 's too
fah fo' her, suah," said the darkey. "Sister Mary 'll win--dat 's who
'll win."

"Naw! naw!" drawled the other. "Senator Irby 'll come purty near
gettin' de coin, wid Peytonia fer an outside chance. I see Peytonia
work a mighty fast mile yesterday mornin', and I 'm jes' takin' a flyer
on her to win today for luck."

I glanced at the nearest blackboard--Peytonia 200 to 1!!!

Would they dare to lay such odds against a horse that had even the
slightest chance of winning? It seemed most unlikely, and yet--I
hesitated. There must be a possibility, or why was the horse in the
race? My sporty-looking friend had said she was fast and had bet upon
her himself. Perhaps I had chanced upon some inside information; and,
after all, $2 was not a very serious matter whether I won or lost.

I started toward the betting stand, but suddenly stopped short. No,
Murray was to make one bet for both of us, and had undoubtedly done
what he thought was best--I would abide by his judgment.

But did he know what I knew--where could he be?

The crowd, which was now surging out of the betting ring toward the
fence and up into the grand stand, thinned out rapidly; but I held my
place, hoping to catch sight of Murray.

"Come on here and make your bets," yelled the book-makers, with whom
business had begun to grow slack; "they 're at the post--they 'll be
off in a minute."

I accepted the invitation. Rushing up to the nearest stand, I handed
up two silver dollars. "Peytonia," I said, with all the nonchalance I
could assume.

"Peytonia," repeated the book-maker; "four hundred to two," and in a
moment more I was the possessor of a fantastically-colored piece of
card-board, on which was scribbled in pencil "Peyt.--400-2."

Suddenly there was a roar of excitement.

"They 're off," was the cry from a t