Quite naturally the judges were inclined to regard this as a reflection upon their official conduct. Old Man Curry was reprimanded for his temerity, and descended from the stand, his beard fairly bristling with righteous indignation. Little Mose followed him down the track toward the paddock; he had to trot to keep up with the old man's stride. "Might have knowed they'd team up agin us," said the negro. "Them Irish jockeys had a story all cooked to tell." Old Man Curry did not open his mouth until he reached his tack-room, and then it was only to stuff one cheek with fine-cut tobacco--his solace in times of stress. After reflection he spoke, dropping his words slowly, one by one. "Weaver and Murphy and Engle.... It says in Ecclesiastes that a threefold cord is not easily broken, but I reckon it might be done, one cord at a time.... Well, Mose, they've made us take the medicine!" "Sutny did!" chirped the little negro. "But they'll never git us to lick the spoon!" The Bald-faced Kid often boasted that everybody's business was his business--a large contract on any race track of the Jungle Circuit. His stop watch told him what the horses were doing, and stableboys, bartenders, and waiters told him what their owners were doing, the latter vastly more important to the Kid. At all times he used his eyes, which were sharp as gimlets. Thus it happened that he was able to give Old Man Curry a bit of interesting information. "Considering what these birds, Weaver and Murphy, did to you last week," said the Kid, "I don't suppose you'd fight a bulldog for 'em, or anything like that?" "Eh? What bulldog?" Old Man Curry could never keep abreast of the vernacular. "Getting down to cases," said the Kid, "you're laying for Weaver and Murphy, ain't you?" "I ain't said so in that many words," was the cautious response. "You ain't going to let 'em kill a good colt for you and get away with it, are you? Weaver was only in that race to take care of Obadiah. Eagle's gang was down hook, line, and sinker on Whitethorn, and they cleaned up. Obadiah was the one they was leery of, so Weaver put Fieldmouse in the race and told Murphy to take care of you. It's simple as A, B, C. Wouldn't you get back at 'em if you had a chance?" "I ain't signed any peace documents as I know of," said the old man, a smouldering light in his eye. "Now you're talking!" said the Kid. "If you want to catch Weaver and Murphy dead to rights, I can tell how to go about it." "So do, Frank," said Old Man Curry. "So do. My ear is open to your cry." "In the first place," said the Kid, lighting a cigarette, "I don't suppose you know that Weaver has been stealing weight off his horses ever since this meeting opened." "With Parker, the clerk of the scales?" ejaculated the old man. "I've heard that couldn't be done." The Bald-faced Kid chuckled.