“No, you can’t kill people of that stamp. One’s got a black eye and the other a lame neck.” “Did any one shadow us out?” “Yes.” “Who?” “The man who was in the stall before the two bums went in.” “How is he dressed?” “The same as before, only that he now has a light overcoat over his cutaway, and wears a slouch hat instead of the silk tie.” “It’s just as I expected,” mused Nick. “The fellow is working for a man who has a good deal of money at stake, and he’ll never leave my man until he has him safe in bed. “Well, hustle into that saloon,” he finally said to Chick, pointing out the place where he had left Amos, “and see if you can find our man Martin in there.” “You mean the man with the light overcoat and slouch hat?” “Certainly. If he is in there, find out what he is doing. If he’s with Amos, get back here as quick as possible.” “You want to keep those two fellows apart to-night?” “Yes.” The young fellow hastened into the place, only to dart out again the next moment. “He’s in there giving Amos the razzle-dazzle.” “What is he saying?” “Why, Amos wants to get away from him, and he swears he means to stay with him until after some race or other.” This was a puzzle. Nick had made every calculation upon going to the stables with the fellow whom he had assisted. He wanted to know the place where Denver Bay was in training. He had not yet decided upon what course to pursue after reaching the field of action, but was positive that once on the ground some means could be found by which the plotters could be circumvented. By this time the detective had made up his mind to give the tricky sporting men a very hard deal. He was firmly of the opinion that Denver Bay would be the best horse in the race. He believed that word had been passed around the inner circle of gamblers and sporting men that the Western horse would not be permitted to win, and he reasoned that they would lay almost any odds against the horse. He thought that the best way to punish them would be to meet them on their own ground, and win their money. Nick Carter is by no means a gamester or sporting man. He derives an immense income from his detective work, and has no inclination to make a break for sudden fortune. In fact, were he worth as many millions as a Vanderbilt or a Gould he would still, for the very love of the business, be a detective. “Well,” said Nick, at length, “if I do the work I have laid out for myself to-night we must separate those two men.” “But how?” “Well, I have a report to make to the fellow, and I’ll go in and call him aside. If he wants to get away from that chap I won’t have any trouble arranging it.” “But if he doesn’t?” “Then one of us’ll have to go over to the stables on his own hook.” “Do you know where they are?” “Oh, they’re out there by the track somewhere.” Nick walked boldly into the saloon, and called Amos aside.