er that there was anything wrong? The boy's good
name would be blasted should he, John Porter, say at the last minute
that he did not trust him; and perhaps the lad was innocent. Race people
were ready to cry out that a jockey was fixed-that there was something
wrong, when their own judgment was at fault and they lost.

Suddenly Porter gave a cry of astonishment. "My God!" he muttered, "the
boy has got spurs on. That'll set the mare clean crazy."

He turned to Dixon, who was at his elbow: "Why did you let McKay put on
the steels?"

"I told him not to." "He's got them on."

"They've got to come off," and the Trainer dashed up the steps to the
Stewards. In two minutes he returned, a heavy frown on his face.

"Well?" queried Porter.

"I've made a mess of it," answered Dixon, sullenly. "It seems there's
hints of a job on, an' the Stewards have got the wrong end of the
stick."

"They refused to let the mare go back to the paddock?" queried Porter.

"Yes; an' one of them said that if trainers would stick closer to their
horses, an' keep out of the bettin' ring, that the public'd get a better
run for their money."

"I'm sorry, Andy," said Porter, consolingly.

"It's pretty tough on me, but it's worse on you, sir. That boy hadn't
spurs when he weighed, an' there's the rankest kind of a job on, I'll
take me oath."

"We've got to stand to it, Andy."

"That we have; we've just got to take our medicine like little men. Even
if we make a break an' take McKay off there isn't another good boy left.
If he jabs the little mare with them steels she'll go clean crazy."

"It's my fault, Andy. I guess I've saved and petted her a bit too much.
But she never needed spurs--she'd break her heart trying without them."

"By God!" muttered Dixon as he went back to the paddock, "if the boy
stops the mare he'll never get another mount, if I can help it. It's
this sort of thing that kills the whole business of racing. Here's a
stable that's straight from owner to exercise boy, and now likely to
throw down the public and stand a chance of getting ruled off ourselves
because of a gambling little thief that can spend the income of a
prince. But after all it isn't his fault. I know who ought to be warned
off if this race is fixed; but they won't be able to touch a hair of
him; he's too damn slick. But his time'll come--God knows how many men
he'll break in the meantime, though."

As John Porter passed Danby's box going up into the sta