they was trying to tell the truth 'bout an accident? Did you?"

Quite naturally the judges were inclined to regard this as a
reflection upon their official conduct. Old Man Curry was reprimanded
for his temerity, and descended from the stand, his beard fairly
bristling with righteous indignation. Little Mose followed him down
the track toward the paddock; he had to trot to keep up with the old
man's stride.

"Might have knowed they'd team up agin us," said the negro. "Them
Irish jockeys had a story all cooked to tell."

Old Man Curry did not open his mouth until he reached his tack-room,
and then it was only to stuff one cheek with fine-cut tobacco--his
solace in times of stress. After reflection he spoke, dropping his
words slowly, one by one.

"Weaver and Murphy and Engle.... It says in Ecclesiastes that a
threefold cord is not easily broken, but I reckon it might be done,
one cord at a time.... Well, Mose, they've made us take the
medicine!"

"Sutny did!" chirped the little negro. "But they'll never git us to
lick the spoon!"

The Bald-faced Kid often boasted that everybody's business was his
business--a large contract on any race track of the Jungle Circuit.
His stop watch told him what the horses were doing, and stableboys,
bartenders, and waiters told him what their owners were doing, the
latter vastly more important to the Kid. At all times he used his
eyes, which were sharp as gimlets. Thus it happened that he was able
to give Old Man Curry a bit of interesting information.

"Considering what these birds, Weaver and Murphy, did to you last
week," said the Kid, "I don't suppose you'd fight a bulldog for 'em,
or anything like that?"

"Eh? What bulldog?" Old Man Curry could never keep abreast of the
vernacular.

"Getting down to cases," said the Kid, "you're laying for Weaver and
Murphy, ain't you?"

"I ain't said so in that many words," was the cautious response.

"You ain't going to let 'em kill a good colt for you and get away
with it, are you? Weaver was only in that race to take care of
Obadiah. Eagle's gang was down hook, line, and sinker on Whitethorn,
and they cleaned up. Obadiah was the one they was leery of, so Weaver
put Fieldmouse in the race and told Murphy to take care of you. It's
simple as A, B, C. Wouldn't you get back at 'em if you had a chance?"

"I ain't signed any peace documents as I know of," said the old man,
a smouldering light in his eye.

"Now you're talking!" said the