“The bloke won't see that, blast him!”
He hung the bridle up in its place, put out the candle, dropped it in his pocket and made his way from the stable.
As he passed Diablo's stall the big Black snorted again, and plunged in affright.
“You'll get enough of that to-morror,” sneered the boy. “I hope you and Ned both break your damn necks. Fer two cents I'd drop somethin' in your feed-box that'd settle you right now; but it's the skunk as split on me I want to get even with.”
Shandy trudged back to where he nested in Brookfield and soon slept with calm restfulness, as though no evil had ever homed in his heart. In the first gray of the early morning he rose and went out to the race course.
XV
The course near Ringwood had formerly been a trotting track, and was still used at irregular intervals for the harness horses. In its primitive days a small, square, box-like structure had done duty as a Judges' Stand. With other improvements a larger structure had been erected a hundred yards higher up the stretch.
It was to the little old stand that Shandy took his way. Inside he waited for the coming of Gaynor's string of gallopers as supremely happy in his unrighteous work as any evil-minded boy might be at the prospect of unlimited mischief.
“Ned'll ride Diablo, sure; there's nothin' else to it,” he muttered. “I hope he breaks his blasted neck. I'll pay 'em out fer turnin' me off like a dog,” he continued, savagely, the small ferret eyes blazing with fury. “I'll learn the damn—Hello!” His sharp ears had caught the muffled sound of hoofs thudding the turf in a slow, measured walk. He peeped between the boards.