“There’s something doing, Joe,” said Hardshell. “Eight of them owners and that slick crook Jim Long is holdin’ a caucus. Nary a word to old Hardshell, and the Sword is entered.”
Joe nodded understandingly.
“Lissen, Joe,” said Hardshell, lowering his voice. “Long is planning a big killing, and it’s up to me and the Sword and you to stop him. The Sword is good for once, if that nigh left leg don’t overheat. He can beat any hoss in that race, ’ceptin’ Attorney Jackson, and I reckon they ain’t plannin’ to have no favorite win.”
Joe nodded again and reserved speech, waiting for the proposition.
“I ain’t asking no man to do anything dishonest, Joe,” the old man went on—“it’s agin my religion and my conscience too—but something’s got to be done.”
Hardshell waited expectantly and hummed “When temptation sore assails me,” hoping that Joe would indicate his attitude or show receptivity, but the assistant starter nodded and smoked in silence.
“’Tain’t as if I was trying to bribe anyone,” Hardshell explained painfully. “I don’t want no one to do anything that is agin his conscience.”
“What do you want me to do?” Joe asked, breaking his silence.
“All I ask is that you help the Sword get off straight, and me and you and the Sword’ll spile the crookedest plan ever hatched.”
“Ain’t any law against my helping a bad actor get off right,” said Joe.