All along the length of the stable the heads of other horses appeared above their stall doors as the two girls passed along, and everywhere they were greeted with whinnies of welcome and delight; for there was not a horse there who did not love the two girls.
But of all the horses in her father’s “string,” Shirley loved Gabriel most, for he was her own personal property. Descended from a long line of distinguished and powerful racehorses, Gabriel had been presented to Shirley by Mr. Willing when the horse was nothing but a colt. His pedigree was of the best, and now, in the approaching Derby to be run in Louisville the following month, Shirley and Mr. Willing both looked to him to maintain the supremacy of the Willing stable.
Besides Jimmy Smith, Mr. Willing’s diminutive sixteen-year-old jockey, none but Shirley had ever sat upon Gabriel’s back. Many had tried, but the result had always been the same. A quick leap to the saddle, a few stiff bucks and jumps by Gabriel, and the would-be rider was rolling on the ground.
But now when Shirley decided upon a little run, Gabriel always received her with joy and was as gentle as a kitten while she rode him. They often had long gallops together, and were the best of friends.
Gabriel was now three years old, and had been entered for the Derby. There was no doubt in Shirley’s mind that he would be the first under the wire at the end of the mile-and-a-quarter run in Louisville, when the great day, August 31st, arrived.
The two girls spent perhaps an hour in the stable, and as they were about to leave, Shirley decided to see Gabriel once more, and so approached his stall.
Suddenly she halted in her tracks and laid a warning finger to her lips. Mabel also stopped.
“What is it?” she whispered.
“I thought I heard strange voices in there,” said Shirley, pointing to Gabriel’s stall.
“Impossible,” returned Mabel in a low voice. “Gabriel wouldn’t allow a stranger in there. He would kick him to pieces.”