o men peering in at Dixie. One was
the man who had seemed so much interested in the mare's trial gallops.
Through the half-open door of the box stall could be seen a horse in
faded purple and white blankets. After a hurried conversation the two
men passed on to the favorite's stall, where they smiled at the
jockey, looked in, and walked on.

Long after the one-thirty special night train had whistled at the
Downs crossing, a dark figure could be seen sliding along the stall
doors--"Ten--Nine--; Eight--" Then it came to halt before Stall No. 7,
and slipped through the door. It felt in the dark for the blanketed
horse's neck. The horse jumped as a dagger-like needle was thrust into
its neck. The colored boy, in a drugged sleep at the door of the
stall, stirred in his dreams, but was still again. The door opened
quietly, and the figure slipped out, leaving the horse in No. 7
leaning drunkenly against the side wall. A shaft of moonlight fell
across the intruder's face, revealing the same man who had attended
all of Dixie's trial gallops. Little did this unscrupulous person
realize that the black mare was spending the night in an old deserted
barn near the race track, guarded by an old gentleman whose mouth was
twisted into a whimsical smile, while a "guaranteed-to-be-gentle"
livery horse was leading a life of luxury that evening in Stall No. 7,
Churchill Downs.

Derby day at Churchill Downs! Kentucky was doing homage to the
thoroughbred. As the band played "Dixie," the Derby entries filed
through the paddock onto the field. Proudly leading the string of the
country's best two year olds, was the song's namesake, a true daughter
of the South. With arching neck and prancing feet, Dixie, the pride of
an old man's heart, took her place at the barrier. Her jockey looked
up as he passed an aristocratic old gentleman, dressed in a faded coat
which reminded one of "befoah de Wah" days and whose hat remained off
while the horses passed.

The barrier was up, and the roar shook the grandstand. "They're off!!"
The favorite, Vixen, shot ahead and seemed to be making a runaway
race. Cheer after cheer rent the air. An old man clasped his program a
little tighter and breathed a prayer. Around the turn came Vixen, but
not alone. Crouched to the ground, a small black horse crept up to the
flying tail of the favorite. Down the stretch the two thundered,
fighting for supremacy. "Foah Kentucky, Dixie, and the honah of the
purple and white!" A