on of such a trivial matter as the touting
off of an opponent's horses was another new discovery in his master's
character. Where were they at, anyway? Presently Crane would be asking
him to give the public a fair run for their money each time out.

All at once a light dawned upon Langdon. Crane was doubling on him. He
saw it like a flash. His employer had a tout on the ground himself; that
was how he had got next some good performance of Diablo's. My, but it
was clever; he could appreciate it. Crane rose in his estimation again.

Quite humbly he answered: "Very, well; it's not my funeral; I'll bring
The Dutchman to the post fit to run the race of his life. If Lucretia
beats him it won't be my fault. I thought perhaps you might want to
hedge a bit on Porter's mare."

"I don't think it. I'll stand The Dutchman; there are too many in
to start backing them all. Let me know if the Black gives you any
encouragement, and I'll see about placing him."

After Langdon had gone Crane lighted a fresh cigar and let his thoughts
circle about Allis and Diablo. It would be just like the play of Fate
for the horse to turn out good, now that John Porter had got rid of him.
When evil fortune set its hard face against a man he could do little
toward making the wicked god smile, and Porter, even when he was about,
was a poor hand at compelling success.

. . . . . . . . . .

Jakey Faust learned of Diablo's transition from Porter's to Langdon's
stable. This information caused him little interest at first; indeed, he
marveled somewhat at two such clever men as Crane and Langdon acquiring
a horse of Diablo's caliber.

Faust's business relationship with Crane was to a certain degree
tentative. Crane never confided utterly in anybody; if agents obeyed
his behests, well and good; and each transaction was always completed in
itself. He had discovered Faust and used him when it suited his purpose.

Some time after the purchase of Diablo, Jakey, reading his Morning
Telegraph, came with much interest upon the entries for the Brooklyn
Handicap, published that day. They were all the old campaigning Handicap
horses, as familiar to Faust as his fellow members of the betting ring.
As his eye ran down the long list a sudden little pig grunt of surprise
bubbled up through his fat throat. "Gee, Diablo! Oh, ho, Mr. Crane!"

He tore out the list and put it in his pocket; then he sat for a time,
thinking. The result was a run down to Gravesend to pay