uite a-many. I knew there was a spy in camp, and I
sewed up Elisha on Wednesday and let Henry see him. Al Engle came
over and peeked to make sure. I had the little nigger watching for
him. You saw Elisha that same night, and the whole kit and boiling of
you got a couple of notions fixed in your heads--first, that it _was_
Elisha; second, that he was a tol'able lame hoss. You expected, when
you looked in that stall again, you'd see a big red hoss with a white
spot on his forehead--lame. Well, you did, but it wasn't the same
one."

"Elijah!" said the Kid. "And you lamed him too?"

"I had to do it. People expected to see a lame hoss; I had to have
one to show 'em, didn't I? But nobody got a look at him in bright
daylight, son. After you went away Wednesday night I pulled out the
hosshair, put Elisha in Elijah's stall, and vice versey, as they say.
Then I worked on Elijah, and when Henry came along he didn't know the
difference. Them hosses look a lot alike, anyway; put a little daub
of white stuff on Elijah's forehead, keep him blanketed up pretty
snug, and--well, I reckon that's about all they was to it."

"Fifty and sixty to one--going begging!" mourning the Kid. "Why
didn't you tell me what was coming off?"

"Because Henry was watching both of us," was the reply. "And,
speaking of Henry, it was you told me the sons of Belial had gone
into the spy business, so I p'tected your interests the best I could.
Here's a little ticket calling for quite a mess of money. It's on the
Abe Goldmark's book, and I didn't cash it because I wanted you to
have a chance to laugh at him when he pays off. Last I seen of him he
was sore but solvent."

THE LAST CHANCE

It was the Bald-faced Kid who christened him Little Calamity because,
as he explained, Jockey Gillis was a sniffling, whining, half portion
of hard luck and a disgrace to the disreputable profession of
touting. "Every season," said the Bald-faced Kid, "is a tough season
for a guy like that. He carries his hard luck with him. He's cockeyed
something awful; his face was put on upside down; you can't tell
whether he's looking you in the eye or watching out for a policeman,
and drunks shy clear across the betting ring to get away from him.
That's the tip-off; when a souse won't listen to your gentle voice,
it's time to change your system of approach. This Little Calamity
person has only got one thing in his favour, and that's an honest
face; he _looks_ like a thief, a