Upon the door of this domicile MacShane knocked, and was cordially invited to enter. For the old sourdough instinctively liked this stranger who daily accompanied Lou Gordon to the dog corral. Bill Ames knew dogs, and loved them. And also he knew men. And with the same certainty that he had taken measure of Dalzene, he had also taken measure of MacShane. For he had been quick to note that here, also, was a man who knew and loved dogs. But there was something else that attracted him to MacShane--an indefinable something about the man that stirred vague memories. A word here, a slight trick of movement--something, that caused Ames to continually cudgel his brain in a vain endeavor to place him. He felt sure he had seen this man before--had known him--but where? The man never volunteered information as to his identity, nor did Ames ever violate the ethics of the country by asking it. Therefore, when MacShane knocked at his door he was genuinely glad to see him. “Well, everything’s set fer the big race,” said Ames, by way of conversation, when the two had settled themselves into their chairs and lighted their pipes. “Yes, I’ve be’n kind of keepin’ cases on these other teams, an’ it looks to me as though Miss Gordon’s dogs have got as good a chance to win as any of ’em, provided they’re handled right.” “You spoke a mouthful,” agreed Ames. “Them dogs is _right_! I claim to know a little bit about dogs, an’ after I’d got acquainted with ’em fer a few days, an’ seen how she handled ’em I slipped out an’ got me two hundred dollars worth of the short end of a ten-to-one bet--an’ I ain’t settin’ oneasy, neither. That gal’s got the dogs, an’ she knows how to handle ’em.” MacShane nodded: “She does,” he agreed, “But the fact is, she ain’t goin’ to drive ’em.” “Ain’t goin’ to drive ’em!” cried Ames, “What d’you mean? She told me how her old man wanted to drive, an’ how she had got to outfigger him someway. But, I heard yesterday that he’d got run in fer peddlin’ hooch to Injuns--an’ I was damn glad of it. Did he git bail?” “No,” answered MacShane, “He didn’t get bail. He ain’t goin’ to drive, neither.” “Who is, then?” “Well, that’s up to you--an’ me.” “What d’you mean?” “It’s like this. She’s sick--sick as hell. Got poisoned at supper, an’ the doc had to pump her out. She says she’s goin’ to drive anyhow. But she can’t. I just come from talkin’ with the doc, an’ he says she won’t be out of danger for several days, an’ she can’t even get out of bed--let alone drive the dog race. An’ the hell of it is she thinks I poisoned her. She’s out of her head, prob’ly--but that’s what she thinks.” As MacShane talked, Bill Ames’ eyes narrowed. “How come her to git poisoned at supper?” he asked.