as at any unreal fairy tale.

"How?"

"I can show you better than I can tell you! Come here!" He rose, and she
was on her feet in a flash. He led the way to the door of the shack, and
as the shadows fell inside, Shakra tossed up her head.

The girl's bewildered joy was as great as if the horse were a present to
her.

"Oh, you beauty, you beauty," she cried.

"Watch yourself," he warned. "She's as wild as a mountain lion."

"But she knows a friend!"

Shakra sniffed the outstretched hand, and then with a shake of her head
accepted the stranger and looked over Ruth's shoulder at Connor as
though for an explanation. Connor himself was smiling and excited; he
drew her back and forgot to release her hand, so that they stood like
two happy children together. He spoke very softly and rapidly, as though
he feared to embarrass the mare.

"Look at the head first--then the bone in the foreleg, then the length
above her back--see how she stands! See how she stands! And those black
hoofs, hard as iron, I tell you--put the four of 'em in my double hands,
almost--ever see such a nick? But she's no six furlong flash! That
chest, eh? Run your finger-tips down that shoulder!"

She turned with tears of pleasure in her eyes. "Ben Connor, you've been
in the valley of the grays!"

"I have. And do you know what it means to us?"

"To _us_?"

"I said it. I mean it. You're going to share."

"I--"

"Look at that mare again!"

She obeyed.

"Say something, Ruth!"

"I can't say what I feel!"

"Then try to understand this: you're looking at the fastest horse that
ever stepped into a race track. You understand? I'm not speaking in
comparisons. I'm talking the cold dope! Here's a pony that could have
given Salvator twenty pounds, run him sick in six furlongs, and walked
away to the finish by herself. Here's a mare that could pick up a
hundred and fifty pounds and beat the finest horse that ever faced a
barrier with a fly-weight jockey in the saddle. You're looking at
history, girl! Look again! You're looking at a cold million dollars.
You're looking at the blood that's going to change the history of the
turf. That's what Shakra means!"

She was trembling with his excitement.

"I see. It's the sure thing you were talking about. The horse that can't
be beat--that makes the betting safe?"

But Connor grew gloomy at once.

"What do you mean by sure thing? If I could ever get her safely away
from the post in a stake race, yes;