t. He had
even double-crossed old Gabe Johnson, his negro trainer, and the
history of that cross will furnish an accurate index on the smallness
of Pitkin's soul.

How such a decent old darky as Uncle Gabe ever came to be associated
with white trash of the Pitkin variety is another and longer story.
It is enough to say that Pitkin hired the old man when he was hungry
and thereafter frequently reminded him of that fact. They had been
together for three years when they came to the Jungle Circuit--Pitkin
rat-eyed, furtive, mysterious as a crow, and scheming always for his
own pocket; Uncle Gabe quiet, efficient, inclined to be religious,
knowing his place and keeping it and attending strictly to business,
namely, the conditioning of the Pitkin horses for the track.

Uncle Gabe treated all white men with scrupulous respect, even
touching his hat brim every time Pitkin spoke to him. He was a real
trainer of a school fast passing away, and at rare intervals he spoke
of the "quality folks down yondeh" for whom he had handled
thoroughbreds, glimpses of his history which made his present
occupation seem all the stranger by contrast.

Some of the horsemen of the Jungle Circuit pretended to believe that
Pitkin kept a negro trainer because he was too mean to get along with
a white man, but this was only partly true. He kept Gabe because he
had a keen appreciation of the old man's knowledge of horseflesh, and
in addition to this Gabe was cheap at the price--fifty dollars a
month and his board, and only part of that fifty paid, for it hurt
Pitkin to part with money under any circumstances.

It was by skipping pay days that he came to owe Uncle Gabe the not
unimportant sum of five hundred dollars, and it was by trying to
collect this amount that the aged trainer became also the owner of a
race horse.

Pitkin, in the course of business dealings with a small breeding
farm, had picked up two bay colts. They were as like as two peas with
every honest right to the resemblance, for they were half-brothers by
the same sire, and there was barely a week's difference in their
ages. Uncle Gabe looked the baby racers over very carefully before
giving it as his opinion that no twins were ever more alike in
appearance.

"They own mammies would have a li'l trouble tellin' them colts
apaht," said the negro.

"Can you tell them apart?" asked Pitkin.

Gabe grinned. "Yes, suh," he answered. "They _is_ a difference."

Pitkin looked at Gabe s