"In front in ten jumps, hey? He's last in ten jumps, that's what he is: stiffer'n a board! And look where Curry's nigger is, will you?"
"To hell with Curry's nigger!" barked Johnson. "Look at the colt! He—he can't untrack himself: runs like he was all bound up somehow! Something has gone wrong, sure!"
"You bet it has!" snarled McManus. "Quite a pile of dough has gone wrong, and some of it was mine too!"
A comfortable ten lengths to the good at the upper turn, Little Mose addressed a few vigorous remarks to his mount.
"This a nice place faw us to stay, 'Lijah! Them Irish boys all behin' us! Nobody goin' bump you to-day! Nobody goin' slash you 'ith no whip! Go on, big red hawss! Show 'em how we risin' up!"
"The nigger'll win in a romp!" announced McManus disgustedly.
"Oh, dry up! I want to know what's happened to Zanzibar!"
"I can tell you what's going to happen to him," remarked the unfeeling McManus. "He's going to finish last, and a damn bad last at that. Why, he can't get up a gallop! Didn't you know any more than to start a horse in that condition?"
"But how the devil did he get stiff all at once?" howled Johnson.
"That's what you'd better find out. How do we know you didn't cross us, Johnson? It would be just like you!"