Old Man Curry Part 27

"No-o." Old Man Curry dropped his hand on the negro's shoulder. "No.

Mose has been ridin' for me quite some time now. He suits me first rate."

"You're the doctor," grinned Johnson. "Do as you think best, of course. I'm only telling you how it is."

"Thankee. I reckon I'll play the string out the way I started. Luck might change."

"Yes, it'll run bad for a while and then turn right round and get worse. So long!" Johnson hurried on toward the stables, laughing loudly at his ancient jest, and Old Man Curry looked after him with a meditative squint in his eyes.

"'As the crackling of thorns under a pot,'" he quoted soberly. "A man that laughs all the time ain't likely to mean it, Mose, but I don't know's I would say that Johnson is exackly a fool. No, he's a pretty wise man, of his breed. He owns a controllin' interest in this track (under cover, of course), he's got a couple of books in the ring, and the judges are with him. I reckon from what he said 'bout Walsh that he's in with the jockey syndicate. No wonder he wins races! Sure, he could get Walsh for me, or any other crook-legged little burglar that would send word to Johnson what I was doing! Mose, yonder goes the man we've got to beat!"

"Him too, boss?" Little Mose rolled his eyes. "Hawsses, judges, jocks, an' Johnson! Sutny is a tough card to beat!"

"'A just man falleth seven times and riseth up again,'" repeated the old man, "'but the wicked shall fall into mischief.' That's the rest of the verse, Mose."

"Boss," said the little negro earnestly, "I don' wish n.o.body no hard luck, but if somebody got to fall, I hope one of them Irish jocks will fall in front an' git jumped on by ten hawsses!"

"Don't make any mistake about it, Curry is wise. He may look like a Methodist preacher gone to seed, but the old scoundrel knows what's going on. He ain't a fool, take it from me!"

The speaker was Smiley Johnson, who was addressing a small but extremely select gathering of turf highwaymen who had met in his tackle-room to discuss matters of importance. They were all men who would willingly accept two tens for a five or betray a friend for gain: Smiley Johnson, Billy Porter, Curly McMa.n.u.s, and Slats Wilson.

All owned horses and ran them in and out of the money, as they pleased, and not one of them would have trusted the others as far as a bull may be thrown by the tail.

"We can trim the old reprobate," continued Johnson, "but we can't keep him from finding out that the clippers are on him."

"And who cares if he does know?" demanded Slats Wilson. "I'm in favour of making it so raw that he'll take his horses and go somewhere else. Look at what he did last season. Got Al Engle and a lot of other people ruled off, didn't he? Raised particular h.e.l.l all over the circuit, the psalm-singing old hypocrite!"

"He's got a fine, fat chance to get anybody ruled off around this track," interrupted Curly McMa.n.u.s. "These judges ain't reformers.

They know who's paying their salaries."

"Sure they do," a.s.sented Wilson, "but the longer this old rip hangs on the more chance there is to get into a jam of some kind. He's a natural-born trouble maker. If he loses many more races the way he lost that one to-day, I wouldn't put it past him to go to the newspapers with a holler. That would hurt. I'm in favour of giving him the gate!"

"When he hasn't won a race?" argued Johnson. "Use your head, Slats.

Let him run his horses, and bet on 'em. He may squawk, but he can't prove anything, and when he's lost enough dough he'll quit."

"Is there any way that we could frame up and get him ruled off?"

asked Porter.

"The ruling wouldn't stand," said Johnson. "Curry has got too many friends higher up, and if we should try it and fall down it would give the track a black eye. The sucker hors.e.m.e.n would be leery of us."

"If any framing is to be done," announced McMa.n.u.s, "count me out now.

You fellows know Grouchy O'Connor? Him and Engle framed on Curry till they were black in the face, and what did it get 'em? Not a nickel's worth! You've got to admit that Al Engle was smart as they make 'em, but O'Connor tells me that Curry made Al look like a selling-plater: had him outguessed at every turn on the track. Let Curry run his horses, and our boys will take care of the little n.i.g.g.e.r."

"That Elisha is quite a horse," commented Johnson. "If they take care of him, they'll go some."

"What's the use of worrying about Elisha?" asked McMa.n.u.s. "Curry hasn't started him yet at the meeting. He's trying to pick up some dough with Elijah and Isaiah and the others. They ain't so very much."

"Well, Elijah would have been right up there to-day if it hadn't been for a little timely interference now and then." Johnson grinned broadly as he spoke.

"A little timely interference!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Wilson. "The boys did everything to that horse but knock him over the fence!"

"And the judges didn't see a thing!" chuckled Johnson.

"Say, let's get down to business!" said Porter. "What I want to know is this, Johnson: when are you going to cut loose with Zanzibar? You said we'd all be in with that; there'll be a sweet price on him, and we ought to clean up."

"Zanzibar is about ready," answered Johnson. "You'll know in plenty of time, and he's a cinch."

"And n.o.body knows a thing about him," said McMa.n.u.s.

"Good reason why," laughed Porter. "That's a pretty smart trick: working him away from the track."

"It's the only thing to do," said Johnson. "Zanzibar is a nervous colt, and if I worked him on the track with the other horses he'd go all to pieces. That's why I have Dutchy take him out on a country road and canter him. It keeps him from fretting before a race."

"How fast can he step the three-quarters?" asked Wilson.

"Fast enough to run shoes off of anything around here," said Johnson.

"You needn't worry about that. We won't have to put him up against the best, though. Zanzibar didn't do anything last season, and he's bound to get a price in almost any kind of a race."

"You're sure he's under cover?"

"If he ain't under cover, a horse never was. He gets his work before sunrise, and at that most of it is just cantering. I've set him down, though, and I know what he can do."

"It sounds all right," admitted McMa.n.u.s.

"Where do we bet this money?" demanded Porter.

Johnson laughed. "That's a fool question! The less he's played at the track the better. We'll unload in the pool rooms on the Coast, same as we did before. Wilson here can enter Blitzen in the same race, and they can't get away from making Blitzen the favourite: on form they'd have to pick him to win easy. I'll let it leak out that I'm only sending Zanzibar for a workout and to see whether he's improved any over last season. The pool rooms won't know what hit 'em."

"Hold on!" said McMa.n.u.s suddenly. "Suppose Curry gets into the race."

"Bonehead!" growled Wilson. "You've got Curry on the brain. Outside of Elisha there's no cla.s.s to his string of beetles, and Elisha is a distance horse. Three-quarters is too short for him."

"He can't get going under half a mile!" supplemented Porter.

"Well," apologised McMa.n.u.s, "I like to figure all the angles."...

Old Man Curry also liked to figure all the angles. He had the utmost confidence in Solomon's statement concerning the righteous man and the seven falls, but this did not keep him from taking the ordinary precautions when preparing for the eighth start and the promised rising up. He knew that the big rawboned bay horse Elijah was a vastly improved animal, but he also desired to know the company in which Elijah would find himself the next time out. His investigations, while inconspicuous were thorough, and soon brought him in contact with the name of an equine stranger.

"Zanzibar, eh?" thought the old man as he left the office of the racing secretary. "Zanzibar? And Johnson owns him. H'm-m. I'll have to find out about that one, sure. The others don't amount to much.

But this Zanzibar? If I only had Frank now!"

Since the Bald-faced Kid's retirement from the turf the Curry secret-service department had consisted of Shanghai and Mose, and there were times when the shambling hostler could be much wiser than he looked. It was Shanghai who drew the a.s.signment.

"Boy," said Old Man Curry, "Johnson has got a colt named Zanzibar that starts next Sat.u.r.day. I thought I knew all the hosses in train-in' round here, but I've overlooked this one. Find out all you can 'bout him."

"Yes, suh!" answered Shanghai. "Bes' way to do that would be to bus'

into a c.r.a.p game. Misteh Johnson got a couple cullud swipes whut might know somethin'--c.r.a.p-shootin' fools, both of 'em--an' whiles I'm rollin' them bones I could jus' let a few questions slip out.

Yes, suh, that's good way, but when you ain't shoot-in' yo' money in the game they jus' nach.e.l.ly don' know you 'mong them present. If you got couple nice, big, moon-face' dollahs to inves', they can't he'p but notice you. They got to do it!"

Old Man Curry smiled and dipped two fingers and a thumb into his vest pocket.