"Here, sir!" he cried, seeming excited for the first time in his life. "All O.K. Bit giddified like. That's all. Take the horse. The Three J's mean business, I tell ye. I must be moving."
Silver looked up at the little jockey perched aloft upon the brown.
"All right?" he asked keenly.
The other, whose peaked cap was drawn far over his eyes, nodded down through the tumult, saying no word.
At the moment Jaggers ran past, trying to get at his jockey. Joses, slobbering at the mouth, was shouting in the trainer's ear.
Both men plunged into the vortex.
"Easy all!" came Jaggers's priest-like voice. "Give him a chance, boys. We aren't beat yet."
"Win, tie, or wrangle!" muttered Old Mat. "That's the Three J's all right."
The mounted police were shepherding Chukkers off the course into the Paddock. There was murder in his face. He swung about and showed his yellow fangs like a mobbed wolf at the pack baying at his heels.
Once inside the Paddock he was just going to dismount, when Jaggers, Joses, and Ikey Aaronsohnn rushed at him and held him on.