"No, n.o.body is to know but you, Mr. Dixon--you and Mrs. Dixon."

This suggested a thought to the Trainer. "The good wife's at work in the kitchen; I'll bring her in. Perhaps she'd like to hire a help," and he chuckled as he opened a door and called, "Come here for a minute. This is a boy"--he turned his head away--"I'm takin' on for Lauzanne."

"Oh," said Mrs. Dixon. Then, with severe politeness, "Good evenin', young man."

The two figures in male attire broke into a laugh simultaneously. The good lady, oblivious to the humorous side of her greeting, flushed in anger. "Appears to be mighty funny," she said. "What's the joke?"

"Oh, nuthin'," replied the husband, speaking hastily. "Can you give the lad a bed? He wants to bunk here."

"Why, Andy, you know I can't. There's only Miss Allis's room."

"Give her--him that."

"Are you crazy, Andy?"

"It's too bad, Mrs. Dixon; I sha'n't let your husband tease you any more. I am Allis; but I'm glad you didn't know."

"Oh, Miss Allis, where's your beautiful hair gone? Surely you didn't cut that off just for a joke?"

Then she was taken fully into their confidence; and before Allis retired Dixon had been quite won over to the plan of Allis's endeavor.

In the morning the Trainer asked the girl whether she would ride Lauzanne a working gallop to get accustomed to the new order of things, or would she just wait until race day and take her place in the saddle then.

"I'm afraid Mike'll spot you," he said--"even Carter may."

"I'll ride to-day," declared Allis; "I musn't take any chances of losing this race through my inexperience. Even Lauzanne will hardly know me, I'm afraid. Mike and Carter needn't see much of me--I can slip away as soon as I've ridden the gallop."

"Here's a boy's sweater, then," said Dixon; "the collar'll half hide your face. I'll get a pair of ridin' breeches an' boots for you by tomorrow. The little mare's in for it sure," he added; "her legs are swellin', an' she's off her feed--just nibbles at a carrot. I feel as bad as if it was a child that was sick, she's that gentle. She can't start, an' I'll just tell Redpath that he can take another mount if he gets it. You're still bound to ride the Chestnut?" he asked, by way of a.s.surance.

"Yes, I am."

"Well, we'll get five pounds off the weight for 'prentice allowance--that's somethin'. I'll arrange about a permit for you. What did you say your name was, mister?"

"Al Mayne, please, sir," this in the humble tone of a stable-boy.

"Well, Miss--Al, I mean--you can carry Lauzanne around the course at nine o'clock sharp; then you'd better come back here an' rest up all day--lay low."

"A new boy, I'm tryin'," Dixon explained to Gaynor, after he lifted a little lad to Lauzanne's back at the paddock gate, and they stood watching the big Chestnut swing along with his usual sluggish stride.

"He's got good hands," said Mike, critically, "though he seems a bit awkward in the saddle. Ye couldn't have a better trial horse fer a new b'y. If Lauzanne's satisfied with him he can roide onythin'."

When Allis, who was now Al Mayne, the boy, came around and back to the paddock, she slipped quietly from the horse, loitered carelessly about for a few minutes, and then made her way back to Dixon's quarters.

n.o.body had paid any attention to the modest little boy. Riding lads were as plentiful as sparrows; one more or less called for no comment, no investigation. Even Mike lost interest in the new boy in wondering why Miss Allis had not made her usual appearance.

"How did the horse like it?" Dixon asked of the girl when he returned home.

"Oh, he knew. I whispered in his ear as we cantered along, and he'll be all right--he'll keep my secret."

"Well, I think he's due for a pipe opener to-morrow. It's just three days till the Derby, an' we've got to give him a strong workout.

Besides, it'll put you next what you've got to do in the race. To-morrow mornin' you had better canter him just slow around once, an' then send him a full mile-an'-aquarter as though there was money hung up for it.

I'll catch his time, an' we'll get wise to what he can do."

This programme was carried out; and as Dixon looked thrice at his watch after the gallop to make sure that he was not mistaken in the time, 2:11, he began to wonder if, after all, the girl was not nearly right in her prophetic hope that the despised Lauzanne would win the Brooklyn Derby.

"He can move; he surprised me," the Trainer said to Allis as she dismounted. "He's not blown, either; he's as fresh as a daisy. Gad!

we'll do those blackguards up yet, I believe."

The gallop had attracted Mike's attention also. As Allis moved away he called after her, "I say, b'y, hould on a minute. What's yer name, ennyway?"

"Al," answered the small voice.

"Well, by me faith, ye didn't put up no bad roide. Ye handled that horse foine. Don't run away, lad," he added, hurrying after the retreating Allis.

Before she could escape him, he had her by the arm, and turned about face to face. Even then he didn't recognize her, for Allis had taken a most subtle precaution in her make-up. The delicate olive of her cheeks was hidden under a more than liberal allowance of good agricultural cosmetique. It had been well rubbed in, too, made of a plastic adherence by the addition of mucilage.

"Lord, what a doirty face!" exclaimed Mike. "But ye kin ride, b'y; so dirt don't count; clean ridin's the thing."

If Allis hadn't laughed in his face, being full of the happiness of hope, Mike would not have recognized her--even then he didn't hit it off quite right.

"Alan Porter!" he gasped. "Bot' t'umbs up! Is it ye, b'y?"

"Hush!" and a small warning finger was held up.

"Don't fear, b'y, that I'll give it away. Mum's the word wit' me. But I'm dahmned if I t'ought ye could roide like that. It's jus' in the breed, that's what it is; ye take to it as natural as ducks--" Mike had a habit of springing half-finished sentences on his friends. "Yer father could roide afore ye; none better, an' Miss Allis can sit a horse foiner nor any b'y as isn't a top-notcher. But this beats me, t'umbs up, if it doesn't. I onderstand," he continued, as Allis showed an inclination to travel, "ye don't want the push to get on to ye. They won't, nayther--what did ye say yer name was, sonny?"

"Al Mayne."

"Ye'r a good b'y, Al. I hope Dixon lets ye roide the Chestnut in the Derby. I'd give wan av me legs--an' I needs 'em bot'--to see ye beat out that gang av highway robbers that got at the mare. They'll not git at the Chestnut, for I'll slape in the stall me self."

As Allis moved away, Mike stood watching the neat figure.

"That's the game, eh?" he muttered to himself; "the gal don't trust Redpath no more'n I do; palaver don't cut no ice wit' her. The b'y didn't finish on Lucretia, an' that's all there is to it. But how's Alan goin' to turn the trick in a big field of rough ridin' b'ys? If it was the gurl herself" a sudden brilliant idea threw its strong light through Mike's brain pan. He took a dozen quick shuffling steps after Allis, then stopped as suddenly as he had started. "Mother a' Moses! but I believe it's the gurl; that's why the Chestnut galloped as if he had her on his back. Jasus! he had. Ph-e-e-w-w!" he whistled, a look of intense admiration sweeping over his leather-like face. "Bot' t'umbs! if that isn't pluck. There isn't a soul but meself'll git ontil it, an' she all but fooled me."

x.x.xII

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.