An imprecation burst from Fitzrapp's lips. Then he sprang toward the horse. The black recognized him with a delighted whinny, and nosed him when he came within reach. There was no doubt that an affection existed between man and beast. Tears gushed into Fitzrapp's eyes, and as for Canada, had there been any question of original ownership, his behavior would have settled it in the manager's favor in the decision of any unbiased jury.
"Told you to wait until you'd seen the horse," said Childress with a chuckle. "This was my little surprise party. Now we can have an honest-to-goodness race according to agreement."
"How comes it that you bring up Mr. Fitzrapp's mount?" asked the most imposing of the race judges, giving Childress a look of open suspicion.
"Because circumstances beyond his control prevented him from bringing up the beast himself," returned the imperturbable owner of the Open A.
The thought that Childress must have lost his mind rushed into Ethel's brain, and she pitied him. There seemed no other reasonable explanation for this piling of folly upon folly.
A look from the major moved Fitzrapp to speech. "Gentlemen, this horse was stolen from me, and from the first I suspected that Childress was concerned in the theft. Why he brought the animal here is unexplainable, but does not concern us. Officer, you had better take him in charge."
The big man in the gray derby stepped forward importantly and laid a hand on Childress' shoulder. The latter made no effort to throw off the clutch, nor did he protest when the official ran his hands over his body in search of weapons.
"What's all this about?" he inquired, a puzzled expression on his face.
"You're under arrest; that's what it is about," said the policeman. "Here's the warrant if you want to read it."
Childress took the paper, and scanned it rapidly.