There was a little scattering applause, but the crowd could get up no enthusiasm for such an exhibition, and few had bet upon a race in which the tricky Pap Curtain had entered two horses. Whiffle Boone turned and glared at Shin, who sat dazed and crumpled on the bench. “Wus dat de news you wus gwine bust to me as a surprise, Shin?” she demanded sarcastically. “Good-bye, honey,” Shin said gloomily, as he rose to his feet and staggered toward the exit. “I ain’t in no mind to argufy about surprises now. I done got one myse’f.” “Whut ’bout dat supper we wus gwine hab?” Whiffle asked. “Honey, I couldn’t buy a sandsquich wid a bad dime,” Shin told her tearfully. “I ain’t got nothin’ dat even looks like money.” IV THE LAME SORREL. Shin hunted all over the fair grounds for Skeeter Butts without being able to find him. “I knows whut ails dat nigger,” he said to himself, at last. “He’s done gone back to de Hen-Scratch an’ he’s waitin’ fer me to come. I ain’t gwine! Dar ain’t nothin’ mo’ fer me to win but a argumint. I done made dat nigger lose all his money an’ if he gits me shet up in dat saloon, he’ll kill me.” He walked out of the gate and went straight to the bank, knocking upon the door of the president’s office. A voice within answered, and Shin turned the knob and entered. “Marse Tom,” he began, “ain’t you got no job fer a strong, willin’ nigger?” “Sure,” Colonel Gaitskill said. “But I don’t believe any nigger is willing to work while a free fair is going on out at the race-track.” “I done got enough fair, Marse Tom,” Shin said solemnly. “I loves hosses, but I ain’t wise to nothin’ about ’em excusin’ how to feed ’em, water ’em, an’ rub ’em down.” “You wanted me to sell you a race-horse this morning,” Gaitskill reminded him smilingly. “Yes, suh. But you knowed I didn’t had no money to pay fer no hoss,” Shin grinned. “I wus jes’ talkin’ wid my mouf. But I shore would like to hab a job wuckin’ wid hosses.” “All right,” Gaitskill agreed. “Go out and potter around my stable. Three dollars a week and feed.” “Thank ’e, suh. Dat shore suits fine.” “And listen, Shin. Go out to the bayou pasture and bring in that pie-faced sorrel you wanted to buy. That’s a good saddler. See if you can doctor him up some way and limber up that snake-bitten leg.” Shin had to pass along the road which led to the Hen-Scratch saloon on his way to the bayou pasture, but he took a wide detour when he came to that place of danger, walking through the fields until he came back to the road at a bend a half mile further on. Slipping a bridle on the crippled horse, he leaped lightly upon his back, and rode toward the gate. The weeds grew rank and high in that rich bottom land, and multitudes of insects arose from the vegetation and whirled around the heads of the horse and his rider. Suddenly a large grasshopper whirred up from the weeds and flew past the sorrel’s ear with a sharp, rattling, whining sound--“Zee-e-e-e.”