d. Where is this here horse?"

"They'll be takin' him out of a freight car about now," said Curry.
"Could I git him down to your place to-night?"

"You can if you walk it."

"Is the road as good as it used to be?"

"Same road. Just like it was when you used to train horses on it."

"Mebbe we ought to be going," suggested Old Man Curry.

"Then you won't talk about centipedes?"

"Oh, well," smiled the old man, "I might discuss a three-legged
critter with you--once."

"Put that bottle back on the bar!" said Ashbaugh.

The overnight entry slips, given out on the day before the running of
the Thornton Stakes, bore the name of the horse Pharaoh, together
with that of his owner, C. T. Curry, whereat the wise men of the West
chuckled. A few of them had heard of Old Man Curry, a queer, harmless
individual who owned bad horses and raced them on worse tracks. A
hasty survey of turf guides brought the horse Pharaoh to unfavourable
light as a nonwinner in cheap company, and in no sense to be
considered as a competitor in the second greatest of Western turf
classics. In addition to this, those who made it their business to
know the business of horsemen were able to state positively that no
such horse as Pharaoh had arrived at the Emeryville track outside of
Oakland. Consequently, when the figuring was done (and a great deal
of figuring is always done on the eve of an important stake race),
the Curry entry was regarded as among the scratches.

On paper, the rich purse was a gift to the imported mare Auckland.
Australian horses, bred to go a distance, had often won this longest
of American stakes, and Auckland was known to be one of the very best
animals ever brought across the Pacific. It was only a question of
how far she would win, and the others were considered as competing
for second and third money. On the night before the race all the talk
was of Auckland; all the speculation had to do with her price, and
how many dollars a man might have to bet to win one. At noon on the
day of the race a horse car was shunted in on one of the spur tracks
at Emeryville, and a group of idlers gathered to watch the unloading
process. No little amusement was afforded them by the appearance and
costume of the owner, but Old Man Curry paid not the slightest
attention to the half-audible comment, and soon the "Bible horses"
found their feet on the ground once more.

Among the loafers were some "outside men" employed by the bookmakers,
a