not a racing story, it's a detective
story!"

"The devil it is!" gasped Spink. "But what's the difference!" he
exclaimed. "They've got to buy it anyway. They'd buy it if it was a
cook-book. And, I say," he cried delightedly, "that's great press work
you're doing for the book at the races! The papers are full of you this
morning, and every man who reads about your luck at the track will see
your name as the author of 'The Dead Heat,' and will rush to buy the
book. He'll think 'The Dead Heat' is a guide to the turf!"

When Carter reached the track he found his notoriety had preceded him.
Ambitious did no run until the fourth race, and until then, as he sat
in his box, an eager crowd surged below. He had never known such
popularity. The crowd had read the newspapers, and such head-lines as
"He Cannot Lose!" "Young Carter Wins $70,000!" "Boy Plunger Wins Again!"
"Carter Makes Big Killing!" "The Ring Hit Hard!" "The Man Who Cannot
Lose!" "Carter Beats Book-makers!" had whetted their curiosity and
filled many with absolute faith in his luck. Men he had not seen in
years grasped him by the hand and carelessly asked if he could tell of
something good. Friends old and new begged him to dine with them, to
immediately have a drink With them, at least to "try" a cigar. Men who
protested they had lost their all begged for just a hint which would
help them to come out even, and every one, without exception, assured
him he was going to buy his latest book.

"I tried to get it last night at a dozen news-stands," many of them
said, "but they told me the entire edition was exhausted."

The crowd of hungry-eyed race-goers waiting below the box, and watching
Carter's every movement, distressed Dolly.

"I hate it!" she cried. "They look at you like a lot of starved dogs
begging for a bone. Let's go home; we don't want to make any more money,
and we may lose what we have. And I want it all to advertise the book."

"If you're not careful," said Carter, "some one will buy that book and
read it, and then you and Spink will have to take shelter in a cyclone
cellar."

When he arose to make his bet on Ambitious, his friends from the club
stand and a half-dozen of Pinkerton's men closed in around him and in a
flying wedge pushed into the ring. The news-papers had done their work,
and he was instantly surrounded by a hungry, howling mob. In comparison
with the one of the previous day, it was as a foot-ball scrimmage to a
run on a bank. When