bitin' at the fence?... You do? Then you
ought to be ashamed to ask any questions, because if you know hosses
like you should know 'em--in your business--you wouldn't need to ask
questions.

"Eliphaz is a cribber, and a cribber is a hoss that sucks itself full
of wind like a balloon. I knew the minute I see him drop his head and
swallow that way that cribbin' was what ailed him. That explained his
bein' such a bad race hoss. Jimmy Miles probably never done a thing
to correct that habit--didn't know he had it, likely.

"Well, the first thing I did was to keep the hoss's head tied high in
the daytime, because no hoss will crib unless he can get his head
down. Then at night I put on a cribbin' strap and buckled it tight
around his neck. He could get his head down all right, but he
couldn't suck any air. With that habit corrected, Eliphaz was a great
hoss.

"When I found out that Engle wanted to buy him, I let Eliphaz crib
all day Friday, after he'd been worked, and when I sold him I didn't
sell the strap. That's all, Frank. When he went to the post he was so
full of air that if Merritt hadn't been settin' on him he'd have gone
up like a balloon. That's why I warned you not to let anybody bet on
him.... Did you do pretty well, Frank?"

"I got a toothful while some other folks was getting a meal,"
answered the Kid. "Just one thing more: where did you get that
name--Eliphaz?"

"That was a sort of a joke," confessed the old man. "Once there was a
party named Job, and he had all sorts of hard luck. Some of that hard
luck was in not bein' able to lose his friends. They used to come and
see him and hold a lodge of sorrow and set on the ground and talk and
talk--whole chapters of talk--and the windiest one of 'em all----"

"I get you!" chuckled the Bald-faced Kid. "That was Eliphaz!"

Old Man Curry nodded.

"'Knowledge is easy unto him that understandeth,'" he quoted.

"Yes, but an inside tip now and then never hurt anybody," said the
Bald-faced Kid. "Declare me in on the next miracle, will you?"

THE REDEMPTION HANDICAP

"Well, old sport, are you going to slip another one over on 'em
to-day?"

"What do you think of Jeremiah's chances, Mr. Curry?"

"Can this black thing of yours beat the favourite?"

"There's even money on Jeremiah for a place; shall I grab it?"

Old Man Curry, standing at the entrance to a paddock stall, lent an
unwilling ear to these queries. He was a firm believer in the truth,
but