"Nobody," answered Herman modestly. "I just picked it up." "A natchel-bawn race rideh. Sometimes you finds 'em. I wish't I could set a hawss down like that. Show me again." "It's easy," bragged Herman, and proceeded to demonstrate that statement. Again the compliments floated from the rear, coupled with requests for speed, and yet more speed. Mose was not an apt pupil, however, for he required a third lesson, and at the end of it Zanzibar was blowing heavily. Mose suggested that they turn and go back. "If I could git that much out of a hawss, I wouldn't take off my cap to no jock!" said he. "Whyn't you make Johnson give you a mount once in a while?" "He says I ain't smart enough," was the sulky reply. Little Mose laughed. "He jus' pig-headed, thass all ail him! You like to git a reg'luh job ridin' faw a good man?" "_Would_ I!" "Well, I knows a man whut wants a good boy. See that tree yondeh? That big one? Le's see who kin get there first!" "It--it's pretty far, ain't it?" "Shucks! Quahteh of a mile, mebbe. Come on!" But it was nearer half a mile, and the three brisk sprints had told on the colt. Boot him never so hard, it was all Herman could do to keep Zanzibar on even terms with Mose's mount. "You on'y foolin' 'ith me. He kin do betteh than that! We in the stretch now; _shake him up_!" Zanzibar was shaken up for the fourth and last time--shaken up to the limit--and Mose was generous enough to say that the race was a dead heat. As the boys brought the horses to a walk, another negro stepped out from behind a tree, a blanket on his arm. Mose slipped from the saddle and tossed the bridle to Shanghai. "Ain't you goin' to ride back to the track?" demanded Herman. "No. My boss, he always wants this skate blanketed an' led round a while.... Sufferin' mackerel, jock! What you goin' do 'ith that hawss? Shave him?" Then for the first time Herman realised that Zanzibar was lathered with sweat; for the first time also he recalled his instructions. "I can't take him back like that!" he cried. "Johnson'll kill me! He told me not to get this horse hot: and look at him!" "He sutny some _warm_," said Shanghai critically. "He steamin' like a kettle!" "Whut if he is?" asked Mose. "We kin fix that all hunky-dory, an' Johnson, he won't neveh know." "How can we fix it?" "Got to let that sweat dry first," warned Shanghai. "And then wipe it off," said Mose. "It comes off easy when it's dry," supplemented Shanghai as he started down the road with the other horse. "Let him stand a while," said Mose. "We'll tie him up to this tree. Pity you ain't ridin' some 'em races Johnson's jock tosses off. Once round that limb's enough. He'll stand." And for rather more than half an hour the good colt Zanzibar shivered in a cold wind while Herman warmed himself in the genial glow of flattering speeches and honeyed compliments.