Shin dropped his bill into the eager stake-holder’s hand, and turned his horse to ride a few feet up the track for a start. The moon-faced negro took his place under the starter’s wire and the two horses loped down the track.
“Go!” the stakeholder whooped.
It was a pretty race for a quarter and the black was putting forth his best effort every foot of the way. Then Shin’s horse seemed to lose all interest in the race and all other affairs of life and the utmost efforts of the rider availed only to bring the horse under the wire about fifty yards behind Doodlebug.
“Good-bye, po’ little, las’ little ten dollar bill!” Shin chanted tearfully as he loped tearfully on toward the stable leaving Pap Curtain to collect the stakes.
But Pap was not disposed to let Shin off so easily. He galloped after him and began:
“Whut race is you gwine start dat cow in, Shin?”
“He runs in eve’y race whut Doodlebug has, Pap,” Shin said easily enough, but his heart was filled with chagrin. “I bought him to beat yo’ Doodlebug!”
“Doodlebug is in de secont race to-day,” Pap chuckled. “You shore owns a good-looker, but as a race-hoss dat shiny black is a puffeckly awful arrangement.”
This was Shin Bone’s idea exactly, and he rode out of the fairgrounds and hitched his horse in front of the Hen-Scratch saloon to hold an executive session with Skeeter Butts.
He strode into the saloon like a personified calamity, and dropped down in a chair beside the table where Skeeter sat.