“What about The Dutchman?”
“Colley'll do. Any kid can ride him, if they sit still. He's just the easiest-tempered horse ever looked through a bridle; he knows what's doin' all the time. But Colley ain't no good on Diablo, an' if he can smell Shandy, that settles it—it's all over. I'll put Westley up; it takes a man to ride that horse.”
“What about this gallop?” asked Crane; “there'll be spies about trying to find out things, won't there?”
“Bet yer life, there'll be somebody, sir. It's just like when I was out in Colorado; you couldn't see a vulture if you traveled forty days, perhaps, but plant a dead thing anywhere and in an hour the sky simply rained 'em down. These touts is most like vultures of anything I know; you've just got to work your stunt to give 'em the go-by, that's all.”
Crane took but an apathetic interest in the matters that held full sway over the Trainer's mind; looking after these incidents was Langdon's part of the contract.
That was why they were so strong together. Langdon could do it. Just how the trial was to benefit them alone, with the inevitable tout at hand, Crane knew not, neither did he investigate; that was up to the Trainer.
They drove into the paddock. Westley, Colley, and the two stable lads were there.
“Shall we bring out the horses?” asked Westley, as Langdon sat swinging a leg loosely over the end of the buggy seat.
“Any of the talent about, Bill?”
“Quite likely, though I haven't seen none.”