She tossed her head. "I'm not so sure I want to run again."
"You know you want to run, Incubus. You've made a big impression, I could see that."
"Who cares what people think?"
"I saw Pamplemousse giving you the eye," Watson murmured. "Good-looking horse, isn't he? Any filly'd be glad to have him interested in her."
"Oh, I dunno," Incubus said. "He's all right, I guess, if you like them tall and dark. But, okay, I'll try it again for you, Watson."
Godlove accosted them again as Watson led Incubus into her stall. "I take back what I said about your horse, Watson," he apologized. "She looks like a fiend, but she runs like one too. With the proper handling, she might be a stake horse." He looked speculatively at Incubus. "Give you five thousand for her, big rump and all."
"Not on your life."
Godlove shrugged. "Suit yourself. But she'll have to run in another claimer, you know." He left, laughing softly.
After two weeks of steady diet and vigorous massage, during which her hip measurements were considerably reduced, Incubus was entered in a four-thousand-dollar claimer. Even though she was still a maiden she was favored next to Pamplemousse by the players, for her unusual first start had not passed unnoticed. Watson bet another five hundred, to obtain which he had mortgaged the old homestead. But this time he could get only even money.
"Remember, Incubus," he instructed her as he buckled her saddle, "if Godlove claims you you know what to do."