"You know you want to run, Incubus. You've made a big impression, I
could see that."
"Who cares what people think?"
"I saw Pamplemousse giving you the eye," Watson murmured. "Good-looking
horse, isn't he? Any filly'd be glad to have him interested in her."
"Oh, I dunno," Incubus said. "He's all right, I guess, if you like them
tall and dark. But, okay, I'll try it again for you, Watson."
Godlove accosted them again as Watson led Incubus into her stall.
"I take back what I said about your horse, Watson," he apologized.
"She looks like a fiend, but she runs like one too. With the proper
handling, she might be a stake horse." He looked speculatively at
Incubus. "Give you five thousand for her, big rump and all."
"Not on your life."
Godlove shrugged. "Suit yourself. But she'll have to run in another
claimer, you know." He left, laughing softly.
After two weeks of steady diet and vigorous massage, during which her
hip measurements were considerably reduced, Incubus was entered in a
four-thousand-dollar claimer. Even though she was still a maiden she
was favored next to Pamplemousse by the players, for her unusual first
start had not passed unnoticed. Watson bet another five hundred, to
obtain which he had mortgaged the old homestead. But this time he could
get only even money.
"Remember, Incubus," he instructed her as he buckled her saddle, "if
Godlove claims you you know what to do."
"Sure do. Shall I let him live afterward?"
"Yeah, let him live. Just make it uncomfortable for him.... Now look
here, sonny." This to the new jockey. "She doesn't like the whip. You
saw what she did to her last boy?"
The jockey nodded and gulped.
"All you have to do is sit on her and let her go where she wants. Then
you'll be all right."
"I wooden even get near her," the boy said, "if I didn't have an aged
mother to support."
* * * * *
The starter waved the yellow flag and the horses were off. Incubus
raced neck and neck with Pamplemousse until they were a furlong from
the finish line. Then she surged ahead to win by five lengths. When she
rode into the winner's circle the crowd booed, as is their pleasant
custom with winning horses and jockeys.
"A popular figure, eh?" Incubus sneered. "_Tcha!_"
"Y'know, Mr. Watson," the jockey said as he was assisted from the horse
with a dazed but beatific smile on his face, "I'm so steamed up over
this win I even thought Incubus was talking to me."
The men standing around laughed. "You've let excitement go to your
head," Godlove remarked. "Personally I would never hire a jockey who
has no emotional equilibrium."
The jockey reached a tentative finger toward Incubus' nose. "Good
horse," he said. "Good Incubus."
"I think you're pretty nice yourself," Incubus murmured out of the side
of her mouth. There was a stricken silence.
Reuben Godlove's eyes narrowed. "That jockey who rode her the other
day told me about your ventriloquism," he informed Watson. "Seems like
a pretty cheap trick if you ask me." The others murmured agreement,
color flowing back into their faces.
"Anyhow, now that she's my horse," Godlove went on, taking possession
of Incubus' bridle. "She's going to be trained serious."
"Now?" Incubus asked Watson.
"Later," he whispered back.
"That ain't funny, Watson," Godlove assured him. As he led Incubus off
she looked back over her shoulder and winked.
"Mr. Watson," the jockey said, following him off the field, "you're not
really a ventriloquist, are you? That horse talks, doesn't she?"
Watson nodded.
"You gonna let Godlove get away with her?" The boy's voice rose to a
shrill squeak.
"I'll claim her back in the next race."
"Yeah, but you can't claim her back less'n you've entered another horse
in the same race and you don't have another horse, do you, Mr. Watson?"