"I hear you, Frank." Old Man Curry pretended to reflect deeply, but there was a shifting light in his eye. "Ah, hah! Your advice, then, would be to take him out and shoot him to save expense?" "Oh, quit your kidding, old-timer. You've bought a race horse; now go ahead and see what you can do with him." "Well, ain't that queer?" ejaculated the old man. "Ain't it? Great minds run in the same channels, for a fact. You know, that's exackly what I was figgerin' to do! I ain't had time to look this black hoss over yet--I bought him just before we pulled out of the railroad yards--but I've been expectin' to see what I could do with him. Whenever I get hold of a hoss that ought to run--a hoss that looks as if he could run, but ain't doin' it--the next thing I want to find out is _why_. If I thought there was a cold strain in Fairfax, I wouldn't waste a minute on him, but I know he's bred right. His daddy was sure a go-getter from 'way up the creek and his mother was a nice, honest little mare and game as a badger.... And, speakin' about breeding, Frank, I don't know's you ever thought of it, but when it comes to ancestors, a real thoroughbred hoss has got something on a human being. Even Fairfax over there had his ancestors picked out for him by folks who knew their business and was after results--go back with him as far as you like and that'll be true. A hoss or a mare without class can't ring in on a family tree, whereas humans ain't noways near that partickler. Son, good looks has made grandfathers out of lots of men that by rights should have been locked up instead of married. Did you ever think of that?" The Bald-faced Kid laughed. "I think that you're putting up a whale of an argument to excuse yourself for shipping that black hay burner around the country. You'd save breath by admitting that Miles slipped one over on you." "Mebbe he did and mebbe he didn't. Jimmy Miles don't know all there is to be knowed about hosses--coming right down to it, I'd say he's pretty near ignorant. Like as not he's overlooked something about this Fairfax. I tell you, on his breeding, the hoss ought to run." "And Al Engle ought to be in jail, but he ain't. He's here, big as life." "And aspreading himself like a green bay tree, I reckon," said the old man. "I've lopped a few branches off that rascal in my time, and if I have any luck I'll lop off a few more at this meeting.... Ole Maje Pettigrew is still the presiding judge here, ain't he?" "Sure. They can't get rid of him." "A lot of crooks would like to." There was a trace of grimness in the old man's tone. "Pettigrew won't stand for no monkey business, pullin' a boss's head off on Monday and cuttin' him loose on Tuesday. They've got to be middlin' consistent p'formers to get by the major, and if Al Engle goes runnin' 'em in and out he'll get his jacket dusted good; you mark what I say!" The Bald-faced Kid shook his head.