"I have. And do you know what it means to us?" "To _us_?" "I said it. I mean it. You're going to share." "I--" "Look at that mare again!" She obeyed. "Say something, Ruth!" "I can't say what I feel!" "Then try to understand this: you're looking at the fastest horse that ever stepped into a race track. You understand? I'm not speaking in comparisons. I'm talking the cold dope! Here's a pony that could have given Salvator twenty pounds, run him sick in six furlongs, and walked away to the finish by herself. Here's a mare that could pick up a hundred and fifty pounds and beat the finest horse that ever faced a barrier with a fly-weight jockey in the saddle. You're looking at history, girl! Look again! You're looking at a cold million dollars. You're looking at the blood that's going to change the history of the turf. That's what Shakra means!" She was trembling with his excitement. "I see. It's the sure thing you were talking about. The horse that can't be beat--that makes the betting safe?" But Connor grew gloomy at once. "What do you mean by sure thing? If I could ever get her safely away from the post in a stake race, yes; sure as anything on earth. But suppose the train is wrecked? Suppose she puts a foot in a hole? Suppose at the post some rotten, cheap-selling plater kicks her and lays her up!" He passed a trembling hand along the neck of Shakra. "God, suppose!" "But you only brought one; nothing else worth while in the valley?" "Nothing else? I tell you, the place is full of 'em! And there's a stallion as much finer than Shakra as she's finer than that broken-down, low-headed, ewe-necked, straight-shouldered, roach-backed skate you have out yonder!" "Mr. Connor, that's the best little pony in Lukin! But I know--compared with this--oh, to see her run, just once!" She sighed, and as her glance fell Connor noted her pallor and her weariness. She looked up again, and the great eyes filled her face with loveliness. Color, too, came into her cheeks and into her parted lips. "You beauty!" she murmured. "You perfect, perfect beauty!" Shakra was nervous under the fluttering hands, but in spite of her uneasiness she seemed to enjoy the light-falling touches until the finger-tips trailed across her forehead; then she tossed her head high, and the girl stood beneath, laughing, delighted. Connor found himself smiling in sympathy. The two made a harmonious picture. As harmonious, say, as the strength of Glani and the strength of David Eden. His face grew tense with it when he drew the girl away. "Would you like to have a horse like that--half a dozen like it?" The first leap of hope was followed by a wan smile at this cruel mockery. He went on with brutal tenseness, jabbing the points at her with his raised finger.