and continued on toward the
wire.

Only one remark of Martin O'Connor's is fit for quotation. It came
when his vocabulary was bare of vituperation, abusive epithet, and
profanity.

"You can slip me fifty, Engle. That darned trick horse of yours was
last!"

An inquisitive soul is an itching thing and the gathering of
information was the Bald-faced Kid's ruling passion. He called at Old
Man Curry's stable that evening with a bit of news which he hoped to
use as the key to a secret.

"Greetings!" said he at the tack-room door. "Thought you'd like to
know that Engle has sold Elisha. Pete Lawrence bought him for three
hundred dollars. Engle says that's two-ninety-five more than he'd
bring at a soap works."

Old Man Curry had been reading by the light of the tack-room lantern;
he pushed his glasses back on his forehead and smiled at his
informant.

"Oh, Elisha!" said he. "Yes, if you look in the second stall to the
right, you'll find him. He's been straying among the publicans and
sinners, but he's home again now where he belongs. I asked Pete to go
over and buy him for me."

"Good work!" said the Kid, seating himself. "There's quite a mass
meeting over at Engle's barn."

"So?" said Old Man Curry.

"Yes indeed! They've got Jock Merritt up on the carpet and they
haven't decided yet whether to hang him to a rafter or boil him in
oil. Some of 'em think he pulled Elisha to-day. Merritt is giving 'em
a powerful argument. Says he never rode a harder finish in his life,
but that the horse took a sudden notion to quit and did it. Didn't
seem to be tired or anything, but just stopped running. O'Connor gets
the floor once in a while and rips and raves about that 'trick-horse
thing.' He thinks you know something. Engle says you don't and never
did, but that Elisha is a dog, same as he said at first. Wouldn't
surprise me none if they got into a free-for-all fight over there
because they're all losers and all sore. Jock Merritt is sorer'n
anybody; he bet some of his own money and he thinks they ought to
give it back to him.... Now, just between friends, what happened to
that horse to-day? You told me he wouldn't win, but at the head of
the stretch he looked like a 1 to 10 chance. I thought he'd walk in.
Then all at once he quit running. He wasn't pulled, but something
stopped him and stopped him quick. What was it?"

Old Man Curry stroked his beard and regarded the Bald-faced Kid with
a tolerant expression.

"Well, now,"