Old Man Curry Part 22

"Somebody to see me, eh?" sputtered the major. "Blankety blank it to blank! Man can't even get his breakfast in peace! Oh, Mr. Curry. Show the gentleman up, boy."

"Judge," said Old Man Curry, after shaking hands, "there's something you ought to know. I bought that Eliphaz hoss from Jimmy Miles--bought him cheap."

"And a good bargain, suh," remarked Major Pettigrew.

"Mebbe. Well, Miles has been pesterin' me for a week wantin' to buy the hoss back. Said he never would have sold him if he hadn't been in licker. He kind of thought I took advantage of him, he said, but it wa'n't true, judge, not a word of it. So last night I let him buy the hoss back--for cash. This mornin' the hoss is in Al Engle's barn."

"Ah!" Major Pettigrew twisted his goatee until it stuck out straight from his chin. "Engle, eh?"

"He knew I never would have sold that hoss to him, so he sent Miles,"

explained Old Man Curry. "I--I've had some trouble with Engle, judge. I beat him a few times when he wasn't lookin' for me to win.

In case anything happens, I thought I better see you and explain how Engle got hold of the hoss--through another party."

"Yes, suh," said Major Pettigrew. "I understand yo' position perfectly, suh. Suppose, now, you had not sold the animal. Would you say he had a chance to win the Handicap?"

"Judge," said Old Man Curry earnestly, "I would have bet on him from h.e.l.l to breakfast. Now I don't know's I would put a nickel on him."

"Neither would I, suh. And, speaking of breakfast, Mr. Curry, will yo' join me in a grilled kidney?"

"Thank you just the same, judge, but I reckon I better be gettin'

back to the track. I had my breakfast at sunup. I thought you ought to know the straight of how this black hoss come to change owners."

"I am indebted to you, suh," said the major, with a bow.

Jockey Merritt, wearing Engle's colours, stood in the paddock stall eyeing Eliphaz and listening to the whispered instructions of the new owner.

"Get him away flying, jock, and never look back. He's a fast breaker.

Keep him in front all the way, but don't win too far."

"Bettin' much on him?" asked Merritt.

"Not a nickel. He opened at even money and they played him to 4 to 5. I don't fancy the odds, but you ride him just the same as if the last check was down--mind that. On his workout yesterday morning he's ready for a better race than any he's shown so far, so bring him home in front."

The bugle blared, the jockeys were flung into the saddles and the parade began. The race was at seven-eighths, and as the horses pa.s.sed the grand stand on the way to the post Jockey Merritt heard his name called. Major Pettigrew was standing on the platform in front of the paG.o.da, bawling through a megaphone.

"Boy, bring that black hoss over here!"

Merritt reined Eliphaz across the track, touched the visor of his cap with his whip, and looked up inquiringly.

"Son," said Major Pettigrew, "you're on the favourite, so don't make any mistakes with him. I want to see you ride from start to finish--and I'm goin' to be watchin' you. That's all."

"I'll do my best, judge," was Merritt's answer.

"You see that the hoss does his best," warned the major. "Proceed with him, son."

The Handicap was a great race, but we are concerned with but one horse--Eliphaz, late Fairfax. When the barrier rose Jockey Merritt booted the spurs home and tried to hurl the big black into the lead.

He might as well have tried to get early speed out of a porpoise.

Eliphaz grunted loudly and in exactly five lumbering jumps was in last place; the other horses went on and left the favourite snorting in the dust. Jockey Merritt raked the black sides with his spurs and slashed cruelly with his whip--the favourite would not, could not get out of a slow, awkward gallop.

"Blankety blank it!" exclaimed Major Pettigrew to the a.s.sociate judge. "What did I tell you, eh? Sure as a gun, Engle laid him up, and the books made him favourite and took in a ton of money! Look at him, will you? Ain't that pitiful?"

"He runs like a cow," said the major's a.s.sistant. "Merritt is certainly riding him, though. He's whipping at every jump."

It was a long way around the track, and probably only one man was really sorry for Eliphaz. Old Man Curry, at the paddock gate, shook his head as the black horse floundered down the stretch, last by fifty yards, the blunt spurs tearing at his sides and the rawhide raising welts on his shoulders.

The winning numbers had dropped into position before Eliphaz came under the wire. Major Pettigrew took one look at the horse and called to the official messenger.

"Find Engle and tell him I want to see him!"

"Well, old-timer, here we are again with our hat in our hand!" It was the Bald-faced Kid, at the door of Old Man Curry's tackle-room. "This time you've put one over for fair! Major Pettigrew has just pa.s.sed out his decision to the newspaper boys."

"Ah, hah!" said the old man, looking up from the Book of Proverbs.

"His decision, eh? Was he--kind of severelike?"

"Oh, no--o! Not what you'd call severe. I suppose he could have ordered Engle boiled in oil or hung by the neck or something like that, but the major let him down light. All he did was to rule him off the turf for life!"

"Gracious Peter! You don't tell me!"

"Yes, and his horses too. The whole bunch! Engle is almost crazy. He swears on his mother's grave that he's in-no-cent and he's going to appeal to the Jockey Club and have Eliphaz examined by a 'vet' and the Lord knows what all. Oh, he's wild! It seems that Pettigrew wanted him to prove that he'd backed the horse and he couldn't produce the losing tickets. If Merritt hadn't half killed the horse, Pettigrew would have got him too."

"Well, well!" said the old man, turning back to Proverbs. "I was just readin' something here. 'He that seeketh mischief, it shall come unto him.' Engle has been seekin' mischief a long time now and look what he's got."

"Too true, old-timer," said the Bald-faced Kid, "but who was it ordered the mischief wrapped up and delivered to him? Come through!"

"Hold up your right hand!" said Old Man Curry.

"Cross my heart and hope to die if I ever tell!" said the Kid. "Now then, come clean."

"Frank," said the old man, "do you remember when we was unloadin' the hosses and ketched Eliphaz bitin' at the fence?... You do? Then you ought to be ashamed to ask any questions, because if you know hosses like you should know 'em--in your business--you wouldn't need to ask questions.

"Eliphaz is a cribber, and a cribber is a hoss that sucks itself full of wind like a balloon. I knew the minute I see him drop his head and swallow that way that cribbin' was what ailed him. That explained his bein' such a bad race hoss. Jimmy Miles probably never done a thing to correct that habit--didn't know he had it, likely.

"Well, the first thing I did was to keep the hoss's head tied high in the daytime, because no hoss will crib unless he can get his head down. Then at night I put on a cribbin' strap and buckled it tight around his neck. He could get his head down all right, but he couldn't suck any air. With that habit corrected, Eliphaz was a great hoss.

"When I found out that Engle wanted to buy him, I let Eliphaz crib all day Friday, after he'd been worked, and when I sold him I didn't sell the strap. That's all, Frank. When he went to the post he was so full of air that if Merritt hadn't been settin' on him he'd have gone up like a balloon. That's why I warned you not to let anybody bet on him.... Did you do pretty well, Frank?"

"I got a toothful while some other folks was getting a meal,"

answered the Kid. "Just one thing more: where did you get that name--Eliphaz?"

"That was a sort of a joke," confessed the old man. "Once there was a party named Job, and he had all sorts of hard luck. Some of that hard luck was in not bein' able to lose his friends. They used to come and see him and hold a lodge of sorrow and set on the ground and talk and talk--whole chapters of talk--and the windiest one of 'em all----"

"I get you!" chuckled the Bald-faced Kid. "That was Eliphaz!"

Old Man Curry nodded.

"'Knowledge is easy unto him that understandeth,'" he quoted.

"Yes, but an inside tip now and then never hurt anybody," said the Bald-faced Kid. "Declare me in on the next miracle, will you?"