pigeons."

"The thing to do," said Old Man Curry with his kindly smile, "is to
find out the eagle's distance."

Little Mose was dreaming that he had piloted the winner of the Burns
Handicap and was being carried to the jockey's room in a floral
horseshoe which rocked in a very violent manner. The motion became so
pronounced that Mose opened his eyes, and found Old Man Curry shaking
him.

"Get up, you lazy little rascal! Got a job for you this mornin'. Turn
out!"

The jockey sat up, yawning and knuckling his eyes.

"Solomon must have had at least one little black boy," said the old
man. "'Love not sleep lest thou come to poverty.' Hurry up, Mose!"

"Yes, suh," mumbled the drowsy youngster. "Reckon Sol'mun neveh had
to gallop a string an' ride 'em too. I sutny earns whut I gits when I
git it."

Dawn was breaking when Jockey Moseby Jones emerged from the tack room
to find Old Man Curry and Pharaoh waiting for him. As they were
walking to the track the owner gave his orders.

"One trouble with this hoss," said he, "is that the boy who has been
ridin' him wasn't strong enough in the arms to keep his head up."

"That ol' hawss has got a head whut weighs a thousan' pounds!"
murmured Mose sulkily. "'Spect he'll 'bout yank both arms outen me!"

"You're pretty stout for a boy your size," said the old man, "an' you
may be able to hold this big, hard-stridin' hoss together an' shake
something out of him. Send him two miles, Mose, keep his head up if
you can, an' ride him every jump of the way."

"But, boss, they ain't no two-mile races in thisyer part o' the
country!"

"Keep on, an' you'll talk yourself into a raw-hidin' yet, little
black boy. I ain't askin' you to tell me 'bout the races on the
jungle tracks. All you got to think about is can you handle as much
hoss as this over a distance of ground. If you can, an' he's got the
stayin' qualities I think he has, you an' me an' Pharaoh may go on a
long journey--down into Egypt after corn. Git up on him, Mose, an'
let's see what you both can do."

The hammer-head loafed away at a comfortable stride and his first
mile showed nothing, but his second circuit of the track was a
revelation which caused Old Man Curry to address remarks to his stop
watch. It took every ounce of Mose's strength to fight Pharaoh to a
standstill: the big brute was just beginning to enjoy the exercise
and wanted to keep on going.

"Well, think you can handle him?"

"Boss," panted little