but don't rub it in. This Fairfax looks
like a stake horse and on his breeding he ought to run like one, but
he simply can't untrack himself in any kind of going. If hay was two
bits a ton and this black fellow had an appetite like a humming bird,
he wouldn't be worth feeding. I'm telling you!"

"I hear you, Frank." Old Man Curry pretended to reflect deeply, but
there was a shifting light in his eye. "Ah, hah! Your advice, then,
would be to take him out and shoot him to save expense?"

"Oh, quit your kidding, old-timer. You've bought a race horse; now go
ahead and see what you can do with him."

"Well, ain't that queer?" ejaculated the old man. "Ain't it? Great
minds run in the same channels, for a fact. You know, that's exackly
what I was figgerin' to do! I ain't had time to look this black hoss
over yet--I bought him just before we pulled out of the railroad
yards--but I've been expectin' to see what I could do with him.
Whenever I get hold of a hoss that ought to run--a hoss that looks
as if he could run, but ain't doin' it--the next thing I want to find
out is _why_. If I thought there was a cold strain in Fairfax, I
wouldn't waste a minute on him, but I know he's bred right. His daddy
was sure a go-getter from 'way up the creek and his mother was a
nice, honest little mare and game as a badger.... And, speakin' about
breeding, Frank, I don't know's you ever thought of it, but when it
comes to ancestors, a real thoroughbred hoss has got something on a
human being. Even Fairfax over there had his ancestors picked out for
him by folks who knew their business and was after results--go back
with him as far as you like and that'll be true. A hoss or a mare
without class can't ring in on a family tree, whereas humans ain't
noways near that partickler. Son, good looks has made grandfathers
out of lots of men that by rights should have been locked up instead
of married. Did you ever think of that?"

The Bald-faced Kid laughed.

"I think that you're putting up a whale of an argument to excuse
yourself for shipping that black hay burner around the country. You'd
save breath by admitting that Miles slipped one over on you."

"Mebbe he did and mebbe he didn't. Jimmy Miles don't know all there
is to be knowed about hosses--coming right down to it, I'd say he's
pretty near ignorant. Like as not he's overlooked something about
this Fairfax. I tell you, on his breeding, the hoss ought to run."

"And Al Engle ought to be in