With a wrench of sheer rage Incubus pulled herself through the gate and dashed after the other horses. "In the backstretch it's Pamplemousse in the lead with Disestablishmentarianism and Epigram running half a length behind and.... But who's this coming up from the rear? It's Incubus! She's ahead by a length.... By two lengths.... By three lengths! What a horse! What a jockey! He's giving her the whip!... Oh, oh, something's wrong. Incubus has lost her rider! Too bad, Incubus." The horses raced up the stretch, with Incubus keeping five lengths ahead of Pamplemousse as per direction. She was much annoyed to discover that he had won the race. "But _I_ won it!" she kept whispering to Watson as he led her off. "I was first. This is a frame-up. I'm going right to the judges and raise an objection." "It doesn't count if you don't have the jockey on you," he told her. "That's the rule." "Flap the rules!" she said. "You mean without that pee-wee it doesn't count? A fine thing! I hate the rules, I hate the rules, I hate the rules!" She stamped her foot. "He hit me with a whip, the little bastard, so I gave him the old heave-ho." "Aw, come on now, Incubus, we'll get another jockey who won't whip you. You see how easy you can win a race?" She tossed her head. "I'm not so sure I want to run again." "You know you want to run, Incubus. You've made a big impression, I could see that." "Who cares what people think?" "I saw Pamplemousse giving you the eye," Watson murmured. "Good-looking horse, isn't he? Any filly'd be glad to have him interested in her." "Oh, I dunno," Incubus said. "He's all right, I guess, if you like them tall and dark. But, okay, I'll try it again for you, Watson." Godlove accosted them again as Watson led Incubus into her stall. "I take back what I said about your horse, Watson," he apologized. "She looks like a fiend, but she runs like one too. With the proper handling, she might be a stake horse." He looked speculatively at Incubus. "Give you five thousand for her, big rump and all." "Not on your life." Godlove shrugged. "Suit yourself. But she'll have to run in another claimer, you know." He left, laughing softly. After two weeks of steady diet and vigorous massage, during which her hip measurements were considerably reduced, Incubus was entered in a four-thousand-dollar claimer. Even though she was still a maiden she was favored next to Pamplemousse by the players, for her unusual first start had not passed unnoticed. Watson bet another five hundred, to obtain which he had mortgaged the old homestead. But this time he could get only even money. "Remember, Incubus," he instructed her as he buckled her saddle, "if Godlove claims you you know what to do." "Sure do. Shall I let him live afterward?" "Yeah, let him live. Just make it uncomfortable for him.... Now look here, sonny." This to the new jockey. "She doesn't like the whip. You saw what she did to her last boy?" The jockey nodded and gulped.