"'Go as far as you like,' I says. "'I beg pardon?' she says, lookin' at me funny. "'Yes'm, you can pat him,' I says. "She takes Rainbow by the head, 'n' sort of hugs it, 'n' rubs the tips of her fingers over his eyelids. Then she whispers to him, but I hears it. "'Old precious!' she says. 'I've always loved Rainbows! Do you bring a fair day, too?' "Just then a black auto sneaks around the bend of the main road, 'n' Mr. Van's drivin' it. He sees us, stops, 'n' comes up the side road to where we are. She don't hear him till he's right close. Then she backs away from Rainbow. "'I thought you might become tired of your sudden interest in hunting, Mr. Van Voast,' she says. 'And I should like to own this horse--I was just looking at him,' she tries to say it haughty, but it don't seem to scare him none. He looks at her steady. "'If I give you a rainbow, will you give me its equivalent?' he says. "'A pot of gold? Yes-- How much will you take?' she says, but she don't look at him no more. "'A pot of gold is at the end,' he says. 'This is the beginning, dear. . . . I want a promise.' "'That would be a fair exchange, would it not?' she says, 'n' looks up at him. I never see eyes look like that before. They puts me in mind of when the band's playin' as the hosses go to the post fur the Kentucky Derby. "'Blister,' says Mr. Van, 'show the horses the view over the hill; they'll enjoy it.' "I'm on my way in a hurry, but hears her say: "'Oh, Billy, not here!' "They don't come along fur half an hour. When they does, Mr. Van says to me: "'Lead Rainbow to the Livingston stables, Blister. He has a new owner.' "'Does you get a good price fur him?' I says, like I don't tumble to nothin'. "'What a remarkable groom!' says Miss Livingston. "'Isn't he?' says Mr. Van. Then he comes 'n' grabs me by the mitt. 'Don't worry about the price, old boy,' he says. 'No horse ever brought so much before!'" SALVATION At the invitation of Blister Jones I had come from the city's heat to witness the morning "work-outs". For two hours horse after horse had shot by, leaving a golden dust-cloud to hang and drift and slowly settle. It was fairly cool under the big tree by the track fence, and the click of Blister's stop-watch, with his varied comments on what those clicks recorded, drifted out of my consciousness much as had the dust-clouds. Even the thr-rump, thr-rump, thr-rump of flying hoofs--crescendo, fortissimo, diminuendo--finally became meaningless. "Here's one bred to suit you!" rasped a nasal voice, and I sat up, half awake, to observe a tall man lead a thorough-bred on to the track and dexterously "throw" a boy into the tiny saddle. "Why?" Blister questioned. "He's by Salvation," explained the tall man. "Likely-lookin' colt, ain't he? Think he favors the old hoss any?" "'Bout the head he does," Blister answered. "He won't girt as big as the old hoss did at the same age."