race-track. A jockey could ride with any sort of saddle, or without
one. The negroes had no uniforms, carried any sort of whips or spurs
which they thought would get speed from their mounts. Only one rule
was positively enforced, and that was made for this event: the man who
entered a horse for a race must own the horse.
Pap was at the stable when Little Bit rode back, and he greeted the
little jockey in a tone which already thrilled with anticipated victory.
“Don’t bet no chink on dat sook-cow, Little Bit,” he snickered. “Ef you
got any loose change, buy yo’se’f a bernaner--don’t waste it!”
Skeeter Butts overheard this remark and hastened forward.
“No jockey kin ride my hoss wid a bettin’-ticket in his hat, Pap,” he
said positively. “Ef you wants to lose yo’ money, lemme take it away
from you.”
“I thought dis hoss b’longed to Shin Bone,” Pap remarked.
“He do,” Skeeter assured him. “Me an’ Shin went cahoots, an’ Shin
exoncised dis hoss dis mawnin’.”
“I remember ’bout dat,” Pap chuckled, as he produced a roll of money
from his pocket. “Less go down to de gramstan’ an’ git a stakeholder
fer dese funds.”
Skeeter took all the money which Pap would bet, then he walked to
the betting shed where a howling mass of half-intoxicated negroes
demonstrated an intense love for the improvement of stock.
Ten big, hoarse-voiced, fat-necked negro gamblers from New Orleans
pushed and bellowed among the darkies with their little celluloid
slates, taking bets for any amount on the favorite, Doodlebug.
Hitch Diamond, Prince Total, and Figger Bush closed in upon Skeeter
Butts.
“I hear tell you is got a hoss in de nex’ race, Skeeter,” Hitch Diamond
rumbled.
“Yes, suh, I’s gibin’ him a leetle tryout,” Skeeter replied modestly.
“Dis here race-hoss game is kinder new on me, an’ I’s jes’ tryin’ to
break in easy-like. I buyed a race hoss yistiddy in Shongaloon from Tax
Sambola.”
“My Lawd!” Hitch exclaimed. “You ain’t bettin’ money on him, is yer?”
“Jes’ a leetle to keep up my mind int’rusted,” Skeeter grinned.
“I hopes it ain’t no mo’ dan you kin affode to lose, Skeeter,” Hitch
Diamond said earnestly. “Dat Nigger Blackie hoss is de best looker in
de worl’, an’ he ack like he’s gittin’ ready to go over de land like a
air-ship. But he don’t run no faster dan a sewin’-machine.”
“Ain’t it de truth!” Skeeter laughed mockingly. “I figger I better bet
on his looks instid of his gait!”
Skeeter walked away and Hitch Diamond turned to his friends with eyes
which glowed like a lion’s.
“Sell yo’ socks offen yo’ foots an’ bet yo’ money on Doodlebug,
niggers,” he howled. “Skeeter Butts is done commit hisse’f enough to
disavow dis Nigger Blackie hoss complete!”
When the bell rang for the second race, Skeeter Butts found Shin Bone
in the grandstand, leaning against the rail.
“I got all our spondulix down, Shin,” he grinned. “Bofe of us bets
fifty dollars per each.”
“How wus de odds?” Shin asked in a tone trembling with excitement.
“Some of it wus five to one,” Skeeter replied. “All I bet Pap wus at
dem odds.”
“Dat’ll bust him in about six minutes,” Shin laughed. “By dark, he’ll
be cryin’ in dat lace handkerchief he swiped outen de show-hall an’
beggin’ me to marrify his niece so he won’t hab to suppote her no mo’.”
Shin turned and gazed at the crowd, trying to locate his girl. Failing
to find her, he left Skeeter without ceremony.
Nigger Blackie came in front of the grandstand, loping along as
sedately as a man might walk across a drawing-room. Little Bit, sitting
on his back without a saddle was as nervous as a cat in the midst of a
pack of popping fire-crackers.
“I bet ten to one dat Little Bit falls offen dat pony befo’ he gits to
de quarter pole,” Pap proclaimed with a loud laugh.
“Ef Nigger Blackie runs in form, he ain’t gwine git to no quarter pole
onless Little Bit hauls him dar in a wheel-barrer,” Hitch Diamond
grinned.
“Dar’s Doodlebug!” Pap proclaimed, in the tone of a parent speaking of
a noble son.
Doodlebug was a Tuckapoo mustang. To those acquainted with the breed,
enough said. It means that Doodlebug was a mean, tricky, biting,
kicking, balky Indian pony. He came up the track sideways, backwards,
on his hind feet, on his fore feet. Twice he lay down and rolled over,
and once he balked, spending two minutes in a vain effort to bite off
his jockey’s leg.
“Dat hoss ain’t got but one good p’int, Hitchie,” Pap declared. “He kin
run like a bullet shot outen a gun!”
A few minutes later five horses swept down the track in an even line.
“Go!” yelled Vinegar Atts, up in the judges’ stand.
In the momentary silence following the get-away, there was a scream
so loud and ear-splitting that it thrilled every person on the
fair-grounds. Then everybody on the grandstand stood up and an
astonished exclamation leaped from every lip:
“Look at Nigger Blackie!” “My Lawd, how dat hoss do run!”
Little Bit had a fence picket for a whip. But instead of using it in
the ordinary way, he was violating all the customs of race-riding. He
sat perfectly straight, his bridle-reins were untouched, lying upon the
horse’s neck and flapping loosely around his face, while he waved his
fence picket around his head like a club. Nigger Blackie was running
like a streak.
As Little Bit passed the half-mile post, once more that thrilling,
ear-splitting shriek swept across the intervening space to the people
who stood breathless in the grandstand.
“Whut kind of noise is dat Little Bit is makin’ wid his mouf?” Pap
Curtain inquired uneasily as he watched Doodlebug a full length behind
Nigger Blackie, running his best and unable to gain an inch.
“Dat’s a Indian war-whoop, Pap,” Hitch Diamond said in a voice which
choked in his throat. “When I wus jes’ a little shaver, I used to hear
de Caddo Indians yelp dat way when dey wus hoss-racin’.”
“My Gawd!” Pap exclaimed, as the horses turned into the home-stretch.
“Whut’s done happened to Doodlebug?”
Doodlebug was doing his best, but he was two lengths behind, while
Little Bit was riding Nigger Blackie like an Indian, whooping like a
calliope, and Nigger Blackie, with the loose bridle-reins flapping
around his face, was coming in like a rocket.
Somebody pulled at Pap’s shoulder, and a soft voice spoke pleadingly in
his ear. He struck behind him savagely with his clenched fist, and then
leaned far over the fence.
Suddenly the grandstand broke out into a prayer, a wailing cry which
urged, pleaded, implored!
“_Come_ on, Doodlebug! _Come on, Doodlebug!_ Come _on_, Doodlebug!”
“COME on, _Doodlebug_!” Pap shrieked, with tears in his eyes, and agony
in his voice, and tragedy in his heart. “Oh, fer _Gawd_lemighty’s sake,
come on!”
Again some one pulled at Pap’s arm, and a pleading voice spoke to him.
Again Pap savagely shook himself loose, struck out blindly and insanely
at the person behind him.
Then a mighty moaning sound broke from the grandstand, the lamentation
of a crushed, disappointed, bankrupted multitude.
Nigger Blackie was under the wire, a winner by three lengths!
Pap Curtain turned away from the track, dazed, nauseated, his yellow
cheeks streaked with white, his sneering lips hanging loosely and
quivering, his mouth as dry as sawdust, his tongue feeling like it was
as big and rough as a door-mat.
Once more some one pulled at Pap’s shoulder, and a pleading voice spoke
tearfully:
“Oh, Pap! I been lookin’ fer you eve’ywhar! I was tryin’ to kotch you
an’ tip you off!”
“Whut’s dat?” Pap asked, turning his dazed, unseeing eyes upon the
girl.
Whiffle Boone began to cry.
“I couldn’t find you till atter de race begun, Pap,” she sobbed. “I
wanted to tell you dat Skeeter Butts an’ Shin Bone swapped hosses on
you.”
“How’s dat?” Pap asked, stupidly.
“Skeeter bought two black hosses yistiddy, Pap,” Whiffle Boone said
impatiently, mopping the tears from her face. “He got one from Tax
Sambola at Shongaloon, but de hoss whut winned de race wus dat black
hoss whut Indian Turtle owned--dat ole Indian whut lives on de Coolie
bayo. Dat’s how come Little Bit rid him jes’ like a Indian!”
Pap leaned weakly against the fence and a deep moan issued from his
stiff, parched lips.
“It’s too late now, Whiffle,” he sighed. “I done loss eve’y dollar I
owns. I bet dat fifty dollars whut you gib me to keep fer you, an’ I
done lost dat. I done bet Doodlebug, an’ lost him! I would hab loss
Skipper, too, only but he b’longed to yo’ maw instid of me!”
Whiffle suddenly broke out into a happy laugh.
“When do Skipper run again, Pap?” she inquired.
“He starts in de fifth race,” Pap sighed.
“All right, Pap, don’t cry!” Whiffle giggled. “Skipper will win in de
fifth race--you leave dat to me!”
“’Twon’t do no good, Whiffle,” Pap moaned despairingly. “Us ain’t got
no money to bet.”
“You leave dat to me, too,” Whiffle replied confidently. “You set down
somewheres an’ rest yo’ mind an’ pick up a brave heart. I’ll git some
money fer you to bet, an’ I’ll fry Skeeter Butts an’ Shin Bone in deir
own grease!”
VII
DOPE.
In the rear of the grandstand Skeeter Butts and Shin Bone were holding
a jubilee. They were in possession of more money than they had ever
imagined was in the world. Silver and currency caused every pocket to
bulge, and for the first time in their lives they felt the need of
police protection.
“I’s skeart dese niggers will stick me up an’ rob me of dis money,
Skeeter,” Shin said uneasily. “Wut is us gwine do wid it?”
“Bet it agin!” Skeeter exclaimed exultantly. “Pap Curtain is gwine run
Skipper in de las’ race. Dat means dat you an’ me will go home wid all
de money on de fairground.”
“We ain’t gwine git many bets,” Shin grinned. “Dese here niggers ain’t
got much mo’ money. Us is copped it all.”
“Only three hosses starts in de fifth race, Shin,” Skeeter remarked.
“One is Prince Total’s plow-hoss; one is Pap’s Skipper, an’ de yuther
is a good runner called Peedee. Us bets on Peedee.”
“All right,” Shin agreed. “Less git busy. Nothin’ don’t bother me but
my money.”
“Less go somewhar an’ ’vide up our money even!” Skeeter suggested.
“Over by de pond would be a good hidin’ place!”
As they started around the grandstand they met Pap and Whiffle Boone.
Pap was walking with bent shoulders, and seemed to have aged forty
years in a few minutes. Whiffle was leading him by the hand, and the
dazed and broken negro was mumbling incoherently to himself. Whiffle
looked straight at Shin Bone without a sign of recognition, and her
eyes were like icicles.
“Dar now, Shin!” Skeeter exclaimed tragically. “You done busted Pap an’
yo’ love scrape, bofe at de same time.”
“I ain’t cryin’,” Shin grinned easily. “Whiffle knows whar de money is
at, an’ she’ll come back to little Shinny.”
They watched Pap and the girl until they were swallowed up by the
crowd, then Skeeter and Shin crossed the track and walked over to a
pond in the rear of the judges’ stand. They sat down on the edge of the
water, divided their fortune, and happily planned their final raid on
the money of their friends.
In the meantime Pap and Whiffle were standing at a stall looking into
the face of a sleepy-eyed horse named Skipper.
“How much would you bet on Skipper, ef you had some money, Pap?”
Whiffle wanted to know.
“Nothin’,” Pap replied disgustedly.
Whiffle turned and caught Pap by the lapel of his coat. She looked
straight into his eyes and said:
“Pap, you listen to me: I win one hundred dollars in dat las’ race by
bettin’ on Nigger Blackie. Dat shows dat I knows more about hoss-racin’
dan you does. Now, you take dis money an’ bet eve’y cent of it on
Skipper, an’ leave de rest to me--will you do dat?”
Pap’s sagging backbone stiffened. His chin came up in the air. His
air of disappointment and dejection vanished like magic, and his face
assumed a broad smile.
“Gimme dat money, honey,” he exulted. “I ain’t mournin’ de loss of my
change. I hates to let Skeeter an’ Shin bust me. Ef I kin jes’ show ’em
dat dey didn’t git it all, I’ll shore die happy.”
“All right,” Whiffle smiled. “Go ahead an’ die. You hunt up Skeeter
Butts an’ Shin Bone an’ bet ’em dis money--make ’em gib you ten to one
on Skipper!”
When Pap departed, Whiffle made a circuit of the stables, eyeing each
negro loafer with intense interest.
Finally she stopped and concentrated her attention on one darky who sat
on top of the fence beside the track, a negro, the features of whose
face seemed to have disintegrated and merged in a shapeless mass, as if
the clay of which the face was molded had “run” before it was dry.
The negro saw Whiffle without appearing to look. Whiffle put up her
hand and rubbed her nose. Instantly the man ran two fingers into his
ragged waistcoat pocket, brought them out, and waved them under his
nose with a loud sniff.
Whiffle promptly stepped to the fence beside him, laid a fifty-cent
piece upon the top rail, and whispered one word. The man acted as if he
did not hear. Whiffle turned her back and looked off across the green
surrounded by the race-track, and saw Skeeter Butts and Shin Bone leave
the pond in the middle of the green and walk toward the betting-shed.
The negro climbed down from the fence and disappeared in the crowd.
Whiffle kept her eyes on Skeeter and Shin until he had entirely
disappeared. Then she turned, and where the money had been lying upon
the fence there now rested a folded paper. Whiffle palmed this paper
and walked slowly back to Skipper’s stall.
Entering the stall, she closed the door, opened the paper and poked at
the glistening crystals with the tip of her forefinger.
Skipper drew near and sniffed at her hands, begging for sweetmeats.
“Dis ain’t no sugar, Skipper,” she murmured, catching him by the nose.
“Whoa! You’ll make me spill dis med’cine, an’ it costed me fifty cents!
Whoa!”
She licked a few remaining crystals off of her trembling fingers,
twisted the paper into a tiny wad and walked out of the stall.
“Huh!” she sighed as she wiped the bitter taste from her lips. “Ef Pap
seed me lickin’ dat he’d kill me!”
VIII
DISASTER.
Skeeter Butts and Shin Bone stood in the crowd at one of the entrances
of the grandstand and frowned and sneered at the importunate negroes
who crowded around them.
“Lend us jes’ a dollar or two, Skeeter,” they pleaded. “Ef we could git
a leetle start, mebbe we could win some of our money back.”
“I ain’t loantin’ no money,” Skeeter proclaimed. “I’s jes’ bettin’
money, an’ I done bet all I’m got an’ couldn’t loant none ef I wanted
to.”
At that moment Pap Curtain joined the group, waving five twenty-dollar
bills. He had wasted much time trying to locate Skeeter and Shin.
“Put up or shet up, Skeeter!” he howled gleefully. “Here am one hunderd
dollars whut say dat Skipper wins dis race.”
“Bless gracious, Pap,” Skeeter grinned. “I figgered dat I had you bust.
Ef I’d ’a’ knowed you had a single dollar lef’ I’d shore been to see
you. Now I done bet all I’m got.”
“Put up de Hen-Scratch saloon!” Pap taunted. “I’ll bet you on anything
you is got.”
“I got a race-hoss,” Skeeter grinned. “I’ll bet Nigger Blackie agin
fifty dollars dat Skipper don’t win.”
“I takes it,” Pap said promptly.
“I’m got a Nigger Blackie race-hoss, too, Pap,” Shin Bone suggested
with a loud laugh. “You seed me on him dis mawnin’.”
“I bets you ten dollars agin _yo’_ race-hoss,” Pap said promptly.
“I takes it,” Shin snickered.
Pap turned away with forty dollars, and found no trouble in placing it
on Skipper, with odds against his horse of ten to one.
It was the last race of the day, and business was brisk. The losers
were squealing and begging money, hoping for a chance to repair their
fortunes. The winners were whooping and resorting to every means in
their power to push their luck to the limit and add to their loot.
“Hurry up, niggers!” one of the bloated, dressy coons from the city
whooped. “Git yo’ money on de race! Dey’s saddlin’ up! Ef you wants
to git in on dis spec’lation now is de las’ an’ loudest call fer yo’
money! Git busy!”
“Put yo’ las’ dollar on de las’ race an’ don’t cry ef you bets it on de
hoss dat comes in las’, niggers!” another darky bawled as he waved a
handful of money. “You’ll be shore to git yo’ money’s wuth of dis race,
fer dese three hayburners cain’t lope aroun’ dat track befo’ sundown!”
“Listen, Shin!” Skeeter said as he plucked at his friend’s sleeve. “I
’speck we better hunt up dat Whiffle Boone an’ make frien’s wid her
over agin. ’Tain’t no use to bear her no grudge--us is winners!”
“Lawd, I done fergot dat sweet little gal offen my mind!” Shin
exclaimed as he hastened with Skeeter into the crowded grandstand and
pushed through the sweating multitude in his search for his girl.
“Dar she am!” Skeeter said, pointing. “You go up an’ set on one side of
her, an’ I’ll set on de yuther side, an’ us’ll jolly her up!”
To their surprise, they found Whiffle as jolly already as she could
possibly be. She made room for them, sat down between them and began to
talk like the whirr of a flutter-mill.
The bell rang for the fifth race, and the three horses galloped up the
track in front of the grandstand. Skeeter noticed that Skipper’s jockey
was having the time of his life trying to keep his mount on the track.
The animal acted like he had an insane desire to walk the fence, climb
into the grandstand, or slide on his ear.
“Somebody is done hit dat Skipper over de head wid somepin an’ sot him
crazy,” Skeeter commented.
“Don’t you slanderize Skipper now!” Whiffle warned him. “Dat hoss
b’longs to my maw.”
“He’s a good hoss all right,” Skeeter said propitiatingly. “But of
co’se he ain’t whut you mought call a race-hoss.”
“Oh, _ain’t_ he?” Whiffle sniffed. “He wus a race-hoss when we bought
him, an’ I bet I knows mo’ about race-hossin’ dan you do!”
There was a loud whoop from the crowd and Skeeter Butts raised himself
on tiptoe and looked with popping eyeballs.
“Bless _gracious_, whut a git-off!” Whiffle exclaimed.
It was indeed a very bad start. In a few moments the three horses were
strung over a distance of a hundred yards, but well to the front and
all alone a big gray named Skipper was skimming the rail and running
like a wild fox, while Skeeter’s favorite bet, Peedee, was the last in
the line.
“O Lawdy!” Skeeter sighed, his heart bumping against the base of his
tongue. “Dis is awful, puffeckly awful!”
He sat down heavily and closed his eyes.
Shin Bone took one look and vanished.
Whiffle Boone stood without a tremor of excitement watching her horse.
“Run, you gray houn’ dawg, run!” she whooped in a clear, bugle call.
At the head of the stretch Skipper was far ahead, running like a
high-powered automobile.
He passed under the wire and started around the track again. In spite
of the frantic efforts of his jockey to stop him Skipper made the
second mile in record time.
As he passed the grandstand the negro who operated the big bass drum
brought down the drumstick on the stretched pigskin with a loud “Boom!”
Skipper promptly jumped the fence, ran far over in the field, bucked
his jockey off, ran splashing through the little artificial pond in the
middle of the green, and finally lay down in the water and rolled over
and over like a muskrat, kicking and squealing and splashing the water
and making waves like Pharaoh’s army drowning in the sea!
“Lawdymussy!” Whiffle whined, watching the antics of the crazed horse
and wringing her hands in nervous distress. “I knowed Skipper was a
hop-hoss, but I didn’t ax nobody how much tea to gib him. I figger dat
I doped Skipper too high!”
The crowd was on its way home a long time before they rescued Skipper
from the pond and persuaded the mud-begrimed winner to return to his
stall and be cleaned off.
At the head of the homeward-bound procession walked Skeeter Butts and
Shin Bone. Words cannot describe their distress.
“Dis is a sad an’ sorrerful day fer me, Shin,” Skeeter wept. “At de
eend of de secont race I owned all de money in de worl’. But now----”
“Hush, Skeeter!” Shin said impatiently. “Yo’ mouf is jes’ like a
gramophome--you sets it runnin’ an’ goes off an’ leaves it.”
“All right,” Skeeter snarled. “I’ll shet up. But fust I tells you dis,
solemn an’ specific: I ain’t never gwine bet on nothin’ no more! Dis
here expe’unce is done broke me from suckin’ eggs!”
“Hush, Skeeter!” Shin pleaded. “Lemme medjertate!”
IX
ONE DOLLAR, ONE CENT, ONE WORM.
Next morning, as Shin busied himself about the stable of Colonel Tom
Gaitskill, he was in the depths of despair. The day before had been
one of wild betting, of wonderful winnings, and of most disastrous
and heartbreaking losses. And this was the last day of the fair, and
Shin found himself in a condition where there was no possibility of
recovering even a part of his lost fortune.
One by one he brought out Gaitskill’s handsome horses and cleaned them
until a man might rub a silk handkerchief over their shiny coats and
not pick up a speck of dust.
Finally Shin brought out the beautiful sorrel with the blazed face
and the stiff, snake-bitten leg. The animal was painfully lame, and
Shin spent an hour with various remedies striving to get some of the
rigidity out of the wounded leg.
Colonel Tom Gaitskill sauntered out from his house to the stables,
carrying his morning newspaper in his hand.
“Mawnin,’ Kunnel!” Shin exclaimed. “Dis old rattlesnake hoss is shore
disencouragin’. It ’pears like his leg ain’t limberin’ up a-tall!”
“Is that so?” Gaitskill asked, slapping at the gnats which flew
annoyingly close to his face with the newspaper and making a shrill,
rattling sound.
Instantly the horse gave a loud snort, leaped high into the air, broke
the halter rope with which he was tied to the post, sprang awkwardly
across the lot, and stood in the corner of the fence, looking fearfully
around him and blowing the air with a whistling sound through his
nostrils.
“What in the name of mud is the matter with that fool?” Gaitskill
demanded.
“Dat hoss is done expe’unce a rattlesnake, Marse Tom, an’ dat rattlin’
newspaper skeart him” Shin Bone grinned. “When dat hoss hears somepin
rattle he don’t take no time to study--he hikes!”
Shin walked over and led the trembling animal back to the post.
Gaitskill said with deep regret:
“My fine horse is ruined, Shin. If he should recover from that stiff
leg he would always be unreliable.”
“Dat’s a fack, Marse Tom,” Shin agreed. “Nothin’ cain’t never make no
rattlin’ sound aroun’ him. I done expe’unce dat myse’f--he throwed me
off two times an’ nigh fractioned my neck.”
“I don’t know what to do with him now,” Gaitskill said sadly.
“Sell him to me, Marse Tom!” Shin pleaded. “Me an’ Whiffle Boone is
gwine git married an’ start a eatin’-house, an’ ef I could own dis hoss
an’ a little wagon I could make plenty money wid light haulin’.”
Gaitskill pondered this a moment. Then he said:
“I’ll let you have him for forty dollars, Shin.”
“Suttinly, Marse Tom. I’ll take him!”
“But remember this: you must promise to turn that horse into my pasture
every night, so he can get enough to eat. I won’t have you starve him.”
“A nigger don’t starve his own hoss, Kunnel,” Shin Bone laughed. “A
nigger will steal feed fer his own hoss, but he won’t steal fer a white
man’s hoss.”
Gaitskill smiled and turned away. Shin gazed upon Rattlesnake with
the proud eyes of an owner. He put his arms around the animal’s slim,
graceful neck, drew the shapely head down upon his bosom, and said:
“Cripple hoss, ef I jes’ had a live rattlesnake to tie to yo’ tail, I
figger I could go out on de race-track dis day an’ win all de races
whut is!”
Suddenly he straightened up, released the horse’s head and turned away
with an air of deep dejection.
“Shucks!” he growled. “Marse Tom specify I got to pay him fawty dollars
fer dis hoss! Whar kin I git dat money?”
Shin led the horse back to the stall and sat down on a broken chair
in the runway. Twenty minutes of deep cogitation threw no light upon
his financial problem, so he rose with a sigh and idly ran his hands
through his empty pockets.
Suddenly he thought of the breast pocket of his coat.
Hastily he thrust his hand into that pocket and brought out one silver
dollar and one copper cent. Up to that moment he had forgotten this
money since he placed it there three days before.
“Dis two money fotch me luck one time,” he sighed. “Mebbe I could git a
little lift from ’em agin ef Skeeter Butts hadn’t took cold foots an’
announce his specify dat he warn’t gwine race no mo’.”
He walked out of the stable, stopped beside a big pine stump in the
stable yard, laid his dollar on top of the stump and placed the copper
penny on top of the dollar in as nearly the exact center as he could
calculate.
Then he lifted up some planks which lay deeply buried in the dirt in
the corner of the yard and captured two red earthworms. He took one of
these worms and laid it in the exact center of the copper coin.