judges, they
goin' be watchin' yo'. Remembeh, it got to look _right_!"

As Jockey Jones passed out of the paddock he clucked to his mount and
glanced over toward the fence where Old Man Curry was still sitting.

"Hawss," whispered little Mose, "did yo' see that? The ole man winked
at us!"

There must have been some truth in the rumour concerning Laredo, for
he rushed to the front when the barrier rose, with Miller Boy and
Athelstan in hot pursuit. As for The Cricket, she was all but left at
the post, and her owner remarked to himself that he'd teach 'em when
to make _his_ mare a false favourite.

The three people most interested in the cherry jacket with the green
sleeves watched it go bobbing along the rail several lengths behind
the leaders, and were relieved to find it there instead of out in
front. Had the judges been watching the bay colt they could not have
helped noticing that his mouth was wide open, due to a powerful pull
on the reins, and they might have drawn certain conclusions from
this, but they were watching The Cricket instead and mentally putting
a rod in pickle for the owner of the favourite.

Laredo led around the turn and into the stretch with Miller Boy and
Athelstan crowding him hard, but the pace was beginning to tell on
the front runners, and the rear guard was closing in on them, headed
by the cherry jacket.

"It's anybody's race," remarked the presiding judge as he squinted up
the stretch. "Lord, what a lot of beetles!"

"Yes, they're rotten," said the associate judge. "Laredo's quitting
already. Now, then, you hounds, come on! Whose turn is it to-day?"

The maidens came floundering down to the wire spread out like a
cavalry charge and covering half the track. At the sixteenth pole a
bold man would have hesitated to pick the winner; indeed, it looked
to be anybody's race, with the sole exception of The Cricket, sulking
far in the rear. It was Gabe Johnson who saw that the wraps were
still about Mose's wrists, but it was Old Man Curry who chuckled to
himself as the horses passed the paddock gate, and it was Shanghai,
Curry's negro hostler, who began to count tickets on General Duval.

"The old nigger's horse is going to be there or thereabouts to-day,"
commented the presiding judge. "Just--about--there--or--thereabouts.
Keep your eye on him, Ed--there he is on the inside. Darn these
spread-eagle finishes! They always look bad from angle!"

Thirty yards away from home a single length