jail, but he ain't. He's here, big as
life."

"And aspreading himself like a green bay tree, I reckon," said the
old man. "I've lopped a few branches off that rascal in my time, and
if I have any luck I'll lop off a few more at this meeting.... Ole
Maje Pettigrew is still the presiding judge here, ain't he?"

"Sure. They can't get rid of him."

"A lot of crooks would like to." There was a trace of grimness in the
old man's tone. "Pettigrew won't stand for no monkey business,
pullin' a boss's head off on Monday and cuttin' him loose on Tuesday.
They've got to be middlin' consistent p'formers to get by the major,
and if Al Engle goes runnin' 'em in and out he'll get his jacket
dusted good; you mark what I say!"

The Bald-faced Kid shook his head.

"That's your hope talking now," said he, "and not your common sense.
These race-track judges have been after The Sharpshooter a long time,
but I notice he's still wearing an owner's badge and coming in at the
free gate. He's a crook--no getting away from it--but he's got
high-up friends."

"Let him have 'em!" snapped Old Man Curry. "You know what Solomon
says? 'Though hand join in hand, the wicked shall not be unpunished.'
Let Engle have his pull; it won't buy him a nickel's worth with ole
Maje Pettigrew. When he starts dealin' out justice, the cards come
off the top of the deck and they lay as they fall. The major will get
him, I tell you!"

"I won't go into deep mourning if he does," said the Kid. "Al Engle
is no friend of mine, old-timer. If he was overboard in fifty feet of
water and couldn't swim a lick, I'd toss him a bar of lead--that's
how much I think of him. He did me a mean trick once and I haven't
got over it yet. He--say! Don't you feed that black horse, or what?"

"Huh? _Feed_ him? Of course we feed him! Why?"

"You don't feed him enough or he wouldn't be trying to eat up the top
rail of the fence. Take a look, will you?"

Sure enough, Fairfax was gnawing at the pine board; the grating rasp
of his teeth became audible in the silence. After a time the horse
dropped his head and gulped heavily.

"Suffering mackerel!" ejaculated the Kid. "He ain't really
_swallowing_ those splinters, is he?"

The time came when the Bald-faced Kid recalled that Old Man Curry's
next remark was not a direct reply to his question. After a careful
survey of the black horse the patriarch of the Jungle Circuit spoke.

"What Jimmy Miles don't know about hosses would fill a bi