back, Westley!" yelled Langdon, leaning far out
over the rail, as the horses raced by, Diablo well in front.

The Trainer's admonition seemed like a cry to a cyclone, as void of
usefulness. What power could the tiny dot lying close hugged far up on
the straining black neck have over the galloping fiend?

"Yes, that's the way," Langdon said, nodding his head to Crane, and
jerking a thumb out toward the first turn in the course, where the
two horses were hugging close to the rail; "that's the way he's worked
here."

"Which one?" asked his companion.

"The Black, an' if he ever does that in a race--God help the
others--they'll never catch him; they'll never catch him; they'll never
catch him," he kept repeating, dwelling lovingly on the thought, as he
saw the confirmation of it being enacted before his eyes; for across the
new green of the grass-sprouted course he could see two open lengths of
daylight between Diablo and The Dutchman.

"Fifty-one and a half for the half-mile," he imparted to Crane, looking
at his watch. "Now The Dutchman is moving up; Colley doesn't mean to get
left if he can help it. I'm afraid Diablo'll shut up when he's pinched;
his kind are apt to do that. The Dutchman is game, an' if he ever gets
to the Black's throat-latch he'll chuck it. But it takes some ridin';
it takes some ridin', sir." He was becoming enthusiastic, exuberant.
The silent man at his side noticed the childish repetition with inward
amusement. He had thought that Langdon would have been overjoyed to
see the bay horse smother his opponent. Was not the Trainer to have
ten thousand dollars if The Dutchman won the Handicap? But here he was
pinning his satisfaction to the good showing of Diablo. He didn't know
of the compact between Langdon and the Bookmaker Faust, but he strongly
suspected from the Trainer's demeanor that the gallop he was witnessing
foretold some big coup the latter scented.

"He hasn't got him yet, he hasn't got him yet!" cried Langdon, joyfully,
as the horses swung around the bottom turn, closer locked, but with
Diablo still a short length in the lead.

Crane saw no great cause for exhilaration. The Dutchman was certainly
giving the Black twenty pounds the best of it in the weights, for one
was a three-year-old while the other was four, and they each carried a
hundred and twelve.

"The mile in 1:42," chirped Langdon. "That's movin', if you like,
considerin' the track, the condition of the horses, an' that t