"I'll do it," declared Faust, impatiently. "Ten hundred to one, Lauzanne!" he called over his shoulder to his clerk, taking the bettor's money; "an' the number is--?"

"Twenty-five, tree-four-six!" answered Old Bill. "Pa.s.s him yer dust," he continued, turning to his companion.

The latter handed his money to Faust.

"Lauzanne!" advised Old Bill.

"A thousand-to-hundred-Lauzanne, win; an' the number is" he stretched out his hand, and turning over Mortimer's dangling badge, read aloud, "Twenty-five, three-five-seven."

He took a sharp look at the two men; his practised eye told him they were not plungers, more of the cla.s.s that usually bet ten dollars at the outside; they were evidently betting on information; two one-hundred-dollar bets coming together on Lauzanne probably meant stable money.

"Let's git out, mister," cried Old Bill, clutching Mortimer's arm.

"Don't I get anything--a receipt, or--"

Faust heard this and laughed derisively. "You won't need nothin' to show for this money," he said.

"We'll be roun' at de back in a few minutes fer a couple of t'ou',"

retorted Old Bill. "Let's cut trough here," he added to his companion, making a pa.s.sage between the bookmakers.

Bill's knowledge of the local geography was good, and skirting the crowd they were soon out on the lawn.

"Let's watch de parade," Mortimer's adjutant suggested, and he led the way down to the course, where they stood against the rail, waiting.

x.x.xV

During this time there was a bustle of much interest in the paddock.

Allis, ready dressed in the Porter colors, had been driven to the course half an hour before the time set for the Derby. Her face was as satisfactorily disguised with dust as though she had ridden three races.

Mike a.s.siduously attended to every detail; even the weighing, thanks to his officious care, was a matter of not more than one minute. The girl's weight was one hundred and ten pounds, the saddle brought it up to one hundred and thirteen. She would have to ride at least two pounds overweight, for the horse's impost was one hundred and eleven. Lauzanne was being led in a circle by a boy, so Allis shielded herself from the general gaze in his empty stall. She felt quite sure that n.o.body there would recognize her, unless, perhaps, Philip Crane. He was rarely seen in the paddock, but might this day come out to view The Dutchman. The latter horse came in for a great deal of attention, for he had been steadily backed down to the position of equal favorite with White Moth.

At last there was the summons to saddle, and Lauzanne was brought into the stall by Dixon. Then the door was shrouded by an ever-changing semicircle of curious observers. Allis gave a little start and turned her head away as Crane, pushing through the others, stood just inside the stall and spoke to Dixon.

"Your horse looks very well; I hope you win, if I don't."

"He's as good as we could make him," answered the Trainer, as he adjusted the weight cloth.

"Is Miss Porter here?" were Crane's next words, quite in the tone of a casually interested friend.

"She may be in the stand," Dixon answered, without turning his head.

Mike had deliberately interposed his body between Allis and the doorway.

To the girl's relief, without further comment, Crane quietly moved away.

"Excuse me, Al, fer standin' in front av ye," said Mike, "but these outsiders is enough to make a b'y narvous the way they stare at him.

Alan Porter was in the paddock a minute ago askin' fer his sister, but I hustled him out, telling him ye--I mean she--was in the stand."

"Thank you, Mike; you're a good friend," replied the girl, gratefully.

Dixon had never taken so much care over the preparation of a horse for a race in all his life; and at last everything was as perfect as it could possibly be made. Lauzanne's behavior gladdened the girl's heart; he was as supremely indifferent to the saddling, to the staring of the people, to the scent of battle that was in the soft summer air, as though he were in his own stable at home. Not a muscle of his huge flank trembled.

Once, as the bridle rein was loosened for an instant, he half turned in the stall, curved his neck and stretched his golden nozzle toward the small figure in blue silk, as though he fain would make sure by scent that one of his natural enemies, a man jockey, had not been thrust upon him. Allis understood this questioning movement, and reaching out her hand rubbed the gray velvet of his nose. But for the restraining rein, tightened quickly by the boy who held him, Lauzanne would have snuggled his head against his little mistress.

"They understand each other," said Dixon to Mike, in an undertone; "we'll get all that's in him this trip."

"Bot' t'umbs up! if he doesn't come home alone I'll eat me hat. The sharks'll get a knock this journey, that'll make 'em take a tumble to themselves."

Dixon stepped back to the corner where Allis was and said: "I guess I can't give you no orders. He's a bit sluggish at the post, an' a few false breaks won't hurt him none. Just don't be afraid, that's all. A mile an' a half's a long journey, an' you'll have plenty of time to take their measure. He's sure to get away last, but that won't matter; there'll be plenty of openin's to get through after you've gone a mile.

Just keep your eye on The Dutchman--he's a stayer from 'way back; an'

Westley may kid you that he's beat comin' up the stretch, for he's slick as they make them, an' then come with a rattle at the finish an' nose you out on the post. Don't never let up once you're into the stretch; if you're ten lengths ahead don't let the Chestnut down, but keep a good holt on him, an' finish as though they was all lapped on your quarter.

There's a horse in the race I don't understand; he can no more get a mile an' a half than I could; it's the Indian, an' why they're puttin'

up the startin' price beats me, unless"--and he lowered his voice to a whisper--"there's a job to carry Lauzanne, or White Moth, or somethin'

off their feet. Just watch the Indian, an' don't let him shut you in on the rail if you can help it. They've put up Redpath, an' that beats me, too, for I think he's straight. But the Indian hasn't a ghost of a chance to win. You'd better take a whip."

"I don't want either whip or spurs," answered the girl. "Lauzanne will do better without them."

"I know that, but take a whip--something else in the race might need it; an' if you have to use it, use it good an' strong. If Langdon lodges an objection I can make him quit."

Over at The Dutchman's stall there was a very confident party. Their horse would go to the post as fit as any thoroughbred had ever stripped.

Langdon was a great trainer--there was no doubt about that; if there had been Crane would have discovered it and changed his executive officer.

The tall son of Hanover was lean of flesh, but gross in muscle. He was as though an Angelo had chiseled with sure hand from his neck, and ribs, and b.u.t.tocks all the marble of useless waste, and left untouched in sinewy beauty layer on layer, each muscle, and thew, and cord.

Flat-boned and wide the black-glossed legs, and over the corded form a silken skin of dull fire-red. From the big eyes gleamed an expectant delight of the struggle; not sluggishly indifferent, as was Lauzanne's, but knowing of the fray and joyous in its welcome.

"He'll win on a tight rein," confided Langdon to Jockey Westley; "he's the greatest Hanover in the land. There's a dozen races bottled up in that carca.s.s"--and he slapped the big Bay lovingly on the rump"--but if you're put to it, Bill, you can call on him fer the full dozen today.

There's nothin' to it but yourself and White Moth."

Carelessly he stepped to the back of the stall, touching Westley as he pa.s.sed. Kicking the loose dirt with his toes, and bending his head to bury his voice, Langdon continued in a subdued tone: "The Indian'll cut out the pace so fast that it'll choke off Lauzanne. The Chestnut's a plugger an' ain't no good when it comes to gallopin'. If you was to all loaf aroun' he might hang on an' finish in front; but the pace'll kill him--it'll break his heart; the fast goin'll lay out White Moth, too, for she'll go to the front an' die away after a mile an' a quarter. Just nurse the Bay, an' let the others fight the Indian. But don't loaf an'

let Lauzanne get near you, fer he can keep up a puddlin' gait all day.

There ain't nothin' else in the race I'm afraid of; there ain't one of them can last a mile an' a half." Then he added, with a disagreeable chuckle--it was like the s...o...b..ring laugh of a hyena--"I miss my guess if the boy on Lauzanne kills himself tryin' to win anyway. He seems a fair lad, but you can ride rings 'round him, Bill."

"I'll put up a good ride on The Dutchman, an' I think we'll ketch the Judge's eye," replied Westley. "It doesn't seem to stand for it that a stable-boy on a bad horse like Lauzanne is goin' to beat me out."

"The boss says you're to have two thousand fer winnin', Westley, so don't make no mistake. I wasn't goin' to tell you this afore you went out, fer fear it'd make you too eager. Many a race's been thrown away by a boy bein' too keen, an' makin' his run too early in the game; but you've a good head and might as well know what you're to have. There's the bugle; get up."

Eager hands stripped the blanket that had been thrown over The Dutchman; Westley was lifted into the saddle, and the gallant Bay led out by Langdon.

In front strode White Moth; one by one the others, and last, seventh, Allis's fatal number, lagged Lauzanne, lazily loafing along as though he regretted leaving the stall.

As the horses pa.s.sed to the course, Crane, who had followed The Dutchman to the gate, raised his eyes from scanning Lauzanne to the rider on his back. It was just a look of languid interest in the apprentice boy Dixon had put up instead of such a good jockey as Redpath. The face rivetted his attention; something in the line of the cheek recalled a face he had constantly in view.

"For an instant I thought that was Alan Porter on Lauzanne," he said to Langdon, who was at his elbow. "A strange fancy--I'm going up to the stand to watch the race:"

"It's all roight but the win now," said Mike to Dixon. "I'm goin' in be the Judges' box to watch the finish. You'll be helpin' the b'y pa.s.s the scales, Andy."

As Allis pa.s.sed the Judges' Stand in the parade she cast a quick, furtive look toward the people on the lawn. She seemed pilloried on an eminence, lifted up in pitiless prominence; would anyone detect her at the last moment? Hanging over the rail in the very front she saw a pale face that struck a chill of fear to her heart--it was Mortimer's.

She had not even thought of his being there. She had eluded the close scrutiny of all the others who were likely to recognize her, but there, within ten yards were eyes almost certain to penetrate her disguise. The girl turned her face away; she knew Mortimer well enough to think that if he did recognize her he would make no sign.