"'I asks you to read them letters, because I got a hunch that colt's a winner, 'n' I want to take a chance on him,' I says. 'I got a string of hosses at New Awlins--now, you let me ship that colt down there 'n' I'll get him ready. I'll charge you seventy-five a month to be paid out his winnings. If he don't win--no charge. Is it a go?' She don't say nothin' fur quite a while. 'I sees a dozen hossmen I knows over at the sale,' I says. 'If you want recommends I can get any of 'em to come over 'n' speak to you about me.' "'No, I feel that you are trustworthy,' she says, 'n' goes to studyin' some more. 'What I should like to know,' she says after while, 'is this: Do trainers make a practise of taking horses at the same terms you have just offered me?' "'Sure they do,' I lies, lookin' her in the eye. 'Any trainer'll take a chance on a promisin' colt.' "'Are you certain?' she asks me, earnest. "'Yes'm, dead certain,' I says. She don't say nothin' fur maybe five minutes, then she gets up 'n' looks at me steady. "'You may take him,' she says, 'n' walks into the house. "I finds Uncle Jake 'n' eases him two bucks. It sure helps his rheumatism. He gets as spry as a two-year-old. He tells me there's a train at nine that evenin'. I sends him to the depot to fix it so I can take the colt to Loueyville in the express car, 'n' he says he'll get back quick as he can. I hunts up Peewee, but he's goin' to stay all night, 'cause the yearlin's won't sell till next day. . . . "The sun's goin' down when we starts fur the depot, Uncle Jake drivin', 'n' me settin' behind, leadin' the colt. The sunlight's red, 'n' when it hits that chestnut colt he shines like copper. Say, but he was some proud peacock! "I sends word to Miss Goodloe we're comin', 'n' she's waitin' at the gate. The colt nickers when he sees her, 'n' she comes 'n' takes the lead strap from me. Then she holds up her finger at the colt. "'Now, Boy-baby!' she says. 'Everything depends on you--you're all mammy has in the world . . . will you do your best for her sake?' The colt paws 'n' arches his neck. 'See, he says he will!' she says to me. "'What's his name?' I asks her. "'Oh, dear, he hasn't any!' she says. 'I've always called him Boy-baby.' "'He can't race under that,' I says. "'Between now and the time he starts I'll think of a name for him,' she says. 'Do you really believe he can win?' "'They tell me his dam wins twenty thousand the first year she raced,' I says. "'He'd be our salvation if he did that,' she says. "'There's a name,' I says. 'Call him Salvation!' She says over it two or three times. "'That's not a bad racing name, is it?' she asks me. "'No'm,' I says. 'That's a good name.'