"What did I tell you, eh? Sure as a gun, Engle laid him up,
and the books made him favourite and took in a ton of money! Look at
him, will you? Ain't that pitiful?"

"He runs like a cow," said the major's assistant. "Merritt is
certainly riding him, though. He's whipping at every jump."

It was a long way around the track, and probably only one man was
really sorry for Eliphaz. Old Man Curry, at the paddock gate, shook
his head as the black horse floundered down the stretch, last by
fifty yards, the blunt spurs tearing at his sides and the rawhide
raising welts on his shoulders.

The winning numbers had dropped into position before Eliphaz came
under the wire. Major Pettigrew took one look at the horse and called
to the official messenger.

"Find Engle and tell him I want to see him!"

"Well, old-timer, here we are again with our hat in our hand!" It was
the Bald-faced Kid, at the door of Old Man Curry's tackle-room. "This
time you've put one over for fair! Major Pettigrew has just passed
out his decision to the newspaper boys."

"Ah, hah!" said the old man, looking up from the Book of Proverbs.
"His decision, eh? Was he--kind of severelike?"

"Oh, no--o! Not what you'd call severe. I suppose he could have
ordered Engle boiled in oil or hung by the neck or something like
that, but the major let him down light. All he did was to rule him
off the turf for life!"

"Gracious Peter! You don't tell me!"

"Yes, and his horses too. The whole bunch! Engle is almost crazy. He
swears on his mother's grave that he's in-no-cent and he's going to
appeal to the Jockey Club and have Eliphaz examined by a 'vet' and
the Lord knows what all. Oh, he's wild! It seems that Pettigrew
wanted him to prove that he'd backed the horse and he couldn't
produce the losing tickets. If Merritt hadn't half killed the horse,
Pettigrew would have got him too."

"Well, well!" said the old man, turning back to Proverbs. "I was just
readin' something here. 'He that seeketh mischief, it shall come unto
him.' Engle has been seekin' mischief a long time now and look what
he's got."

"Too true, old-timer," said the Bald-faced Kid, "but who was it
ordered the mischief wrapped up and delivered to him? Come through!"

"Hold up your right hand!" said Old Man Curry.

"Cross my heart and hope to die if I ever tell!" said the Kid. "Now
then, come clean."

"Frank," said the old man, "do you remember when we was unloadin' the
hosses and ketched Eliphaz