The news that Lucretia was sick had got about. The Porter's stable
traveled out in the betting for the Brooklyn Derby until a backer--if
there had been one--could have written his own price, and got it.
Langdon had informed Crane of this change in their favor, though he said
nothing about the deal with Shandy which had brought about the poisoning
of the mare.
“I'm sorry that Porter's mare has gone wrong,” Crane said. “I think we
would have won anyway, but it'll just about ruin them.”
Figuratively, Langdon closed one eye and winked to himself. Crane must
know that it was his implied desires that had led up to the stopping of
Lucretia. Langdon thought Crane just about the most complete hypocrite
he'd ever met; that preacher face of his could look honorably pious
while its owner raked in a cool forty thousand over the Trainer's dirty
work. However, that cut no figure, it was his ten thousand dollars
Langdon was after.
Just as they thought they had destroyed the chances of their strongest
opponent, came a new disturbing feature. Other eyes than Dixon's has
seen Lauzanne's strong gallop; other watchers than his had ticked of the
extraordinary good time, 2:11 for the mile and a quarter, with the
horse seemingly running well within himself, never urged a foot of
the journey, and finishing strong, was certainly almost good enough to
warrant his winning.
This information had been brought to Langdon, but he also had observed
the gallop. And the same boy was to ride Lauzanne in the race, he
understood, for Redpath had been released, and was looking for another
mount. It wasn't in the natural order of things that one small stable
would have in it two horses good enough to win the Derby, especially
when one of them was a cast-off; but there was the gallop; time, like
figures, didn't lie, not often; and as he thought of it Langdon admitted
that he had never seen such an improvement in a horse as had been made
in Lauzanne. Shandy had told him that it was Miss Porter's doing, that
she had cured him of his sulky moods; the gallop Langdon had witnessed
seemed to bear out the truth of this. What was he to do? They couldn't
repeat the trick they had played on Lucretia. The Dutchman might win; he
had worked the full Derby distance, a mile and a half, in 2:45, nearly
all out at the finish. Lauzanne's gallop was only a mile and a quarter;
he might not be able to stay the additional quarter. But there was
ten thousand dollars at stake--for Langdon. He sought to discover the
identity of Lauzanne's rider; but nobody knew him--Dixon had picked him
up somewhere. Perhaps he could be got at; that would simplify matters
greatly.
The morning after her fast work on Lauzanne, Allis, draped as she was
into the personification of Al Mayne, arrived at the course before their
horses. As she was leaning over the paddock rail waiting for Lauzanne
to come, Langdon, who had evidently determined upon a course of action,
sauntered up carelessly to the girl and commenced to talk. After a free
preliminary observation he said, “You're the boy that's ridin' for Andy
Dixon, ain't you?”
The small figure nodded its head.
“I seen you gallop that Chestnut yesterday. Where you been ridin--you're
a stranger here, I reckon?”
“Out West,” answered Allis, at a hazard.
“Oh, San Francisco, eh? Are you engaged to Dixon?”
“I'm just on trial.”
“Goin' to ride the Chestnut in the race?”
Again the boy nodded; under the circumstances it wasn't wise to trust
too much to speech.
“He ain't no good--he's a bad horse. I guess I've got the winner of that
race in my stable. If he wins, I'd like to sign you for a year. I like
the way you ride. I ain't got no good lightweight. I might give you a
thousand for a contract, an' losin' and winnin' mounts when you had a
leg up. How do you like ridin' for Dixon?” he continued, the little chap
not answering his observations.
“I ain't goin' to ride no more for him after this race,” answered the
other, quite truthfully enough, but possessed of a curiosity to discover
the extent of the other's villainy.
“I don't blame you. He's no good; he don't never give his boys a chance.
If you win on the Chestnut, like as not they'll just give you the
winnin' mount. That ain't no good to a boy. They ain't got no money,
that's why. The owner of my candidate, The Dutchman, he's a rich man,
an' won't think nothin' of givin' a retainer of a thousand if we won
this race. That'll mean The Dutchman's a good horse, and we'll want a
good light boy to ride him, see?”
Allis did see. Langdon was diplomatically giving her as A1 Mayne to
understand that if she threw the race on Lauzanne, she would get a place
in their stable at a retainer of a thousand dollars.
“We can afford it if we win the race,” he continued, “for we stand a big
stake. Come and see me any time you like to talk this over.”
After he had gone, just as Allis was leaving the rail, she was again
accosted; this time by Shandy. She trembled an instant, fearing that the
small red-lidded ferret eyes would discover her identity. But the boy
was too intent on trying to secure his ill-earned five hundred dollars
to think of anything else.
“Good mornin', boy,” he said, cheerily. “I used to be in Dixon's stable.
It's hell; and he's a swipe. I see my boss talkin' to you just now. Did
he put you next a good thing?”
Allis nodded her head, knowingly.
“He's all right. So's the other one--the guy as has got the mun; he's
got a bank full of it. I'm on to him; his name's Crane--”
Allis started.
“You don't know him,” continued the imp; “he's too slick to go messin'
about. But if the old man promised you anything, see, God blast me,
you'll git it. Not like that other skin-flint hole where you don't git
nothin'. I stand in five hundred if our horse wins the Derby.”
“Do you ride him?” asked Al Mayne.
“Ride nothin'. I don't have to. I've did my job already.”
“I don't believe they'll give you five hundred for nothin',” said Allis,
doubtingly, knowing that the boy's obstinate nature, if he were crossed,
would probably drive him into further explanation.
“Say, you're a stiff. What'd the ole man want you to do--pull Lauzanne?”
Allis nodded.
“I knowed it. What was the use of stoppin' the mare an' let the Chestnut
spoil the job?”
“Is that what you get the five hundred for?” asked Allis, a sudden
suspicion forcing itself upon her.
“Say, what d' you take me fer, a flat car? But she's sick, ain't she?
An' you jes' take care of the Chestnut now, an' I'll give you a hundred
out of my five, God bli' me if I don't.”
As he spoke Shandy looked hastily about to see that no one was
listening, then he continued: “If you give me the double cross an'
peach, I'll split yer head open.” His small eyes blazed with venomous
fury. “Besides, it won't do no good, my word's as good as yours. But
I'll give you the hundred, s'help me God! I will, if you don't ride the
Chestnut out. Mum's the word,” he added, bolting suddenly, for Dixon had
entered the paddock with his horses.
With the horses also came Mike Gaynor. While their blankets were being
taken off and saddles adjusted, he came over to Allis. There was a
suppressed twinkle of subverted knowledge in his weatherbeaten eyes.
“Good mornin', Al,” he said, nodding in a very dignified manner, and
putting a strong accent on the name.
Now Mike had determined to keep from the girl the fact that he had
penetrated her disguise. With proper Irish gallantry, crude as it might
be in its expression, but delicate enough in its motive, he reasoned
that his knowledge might make her uncomfortable.
“I see that fly-by-night divil Shandy talkin' to ye as I come in. What
new mischief is he up to now?”
“He wants me to pull Lauzanne.”
“He ain't got no gall, has he? That come from headquarters; it's Langdon
put him up to that.”
“He was talkin' to me, too.”
“I t'ought he would be. But he didn't know ye, Miss Allis--”
Heavens! It was out. Mike's sun-tanned face turned brick-red; he
could have bitten off his unruly Irish tongue. The girl stared at him
helplessly, her cheeks, that were scarlet, tingling under the hot rush
of blood.
“There ye are, an' believe me, I didn't mean it. I was goin' to keep me
mouth shut, but I never could do that.”
“You knew then, yesterday?”
“Indade I didn't, an' that's a good sign to ye nobody'll know. But whin
I t'ought wit' meself I knowed that Alan couldn't ride Lauzanne the way
ye did; an' ye didn't deny ye was him, an' if ye wasn't him ye must be
yerself, see?” which more or less lucid explanation seemed to relieve
Mike's mind mightily. “I think ye're Jes doin' roight, Miss--Al, I mean;
I must get used to that name; s'help me, I believe ye'll win on the
Chestnut--that gallop was good enough.”
“Do you think I can do it, Mike, among all those jockeys?”
“Sure thing, ye can, A--Al, me b'y; he won't need no ridin' in yer
hands; all ye'll have to do is sit still an' keep him straight.
He'll win the race in the stretch, an' there won't be many there to
bother--they'll all be beat off. Now, it's a good thing that I do know
about this, for I'll just kape close to ye an' kape any wan that's
likely to spot ye away, if I have to knock him down.”
Mike had worked himself up to a fine frenzy of projected endeavor; he
cast about for further services he could render his admired mistress.
“An' ye know Carson the starter; he's jes the loveliest Irishman; there
isn't a b'y on earth could git an inch the best av it from him on a
start, not if they was to give him gold enough to weigh a horse down.
But I'll jes' tip him the wink that ye'r a gurl, and--”
“Mike, what are you saying? Do you mean to ruin everything?”
The rosy hue of eager joyousness that had crept into Gaynor's suntanned
face vanished; his jaw drooped, and a pathetic look of sheepish apology
followed.
“That's so,” he ejaculated, mournfully; “bot' tumbs up! but it's a pity.
Carson's an Irish gintleman, an' if I could till him ye was a gurl, he'd
knock the head plumb off any b'y that 'ud bother ye. Ye'd git away well,
too.”
Then the girl told Mike all that Shandy and Langdon had said. It only
confirmed Mike's opinion that between them they had poisoned Lucretia.
He felt that with a little more evidence he would be able to prove both
crimes--the one with Diablo and the one with Lucretia.
The Brooklyn Derby was to be run the next day. Allis was glad that it
was so near; she dreaded discovery. She was like a hunted hare, dodging
everyone she fancied might discover her identity. She would have to run
the gauntlet of many eyes while weighing for the race, and at the time
of going out; even when she returned, especially if she won. But in
the excitement over the race, people would not have time to devote to a
strange jockey's visage. She could quite smear her face with dirt, for
that seemed a natural condition where boys were riding perhaps several
races in one afternoon. The jockey cap with its big peak well pulled
down over her head would add materially to her disguise. Mike would
fetch and carry for her, so that she would be in evidence for very
few minutes at most. Dixon even, opposed to the idea as he had been at
first, now assured her quite confidently that nobody would make her out.
“It's the horses they look at,” he said, “and the colors. An apprentice
boy doesn't cut much ice, I can tell you. Why, I've been racin' for
years,” he went on with the intent of giving her confidence, “an' many a
time I see a boy up on a horse that must have rode on the tracks over a
hundred times, an' I can't name him to save my neck.”
At any rate there was nothing more to do until she made the great
endeavor, until she went to the track at the time set for the Brooklyn
Derby, dressed in the blue jacket with the white stars of her father's
racing colors; that was the plan adopted. A buggy, with Mike driving,
would take her straight to the paddock quite in time for the race.