Chapter V: A Jockey in Trouble

The carriage containing the dude and the man Morris whom he had picked up at the saloon stopped at a roadhouse a short distance from the stables.

Nick was not yet posted regarding the conference at the saloon between Morris and the man Brower, who had summoned him there.

He was satisfied that some scheme was on foot which had nothing to do with the plot engineered by Johnson, who had staked forty thousand dollars against twenty thousand of James Wheeler’s money that Denver Bay would not win the race.

Johnson wanted the horse to run and be beaten.

The detective did not know exactly what the Brower crowd did want.

He went over to the stables in company with Morris to find out.

The dude and the roughly-dressed horseman attracted some attention as they walked into the quiet little bar-room.

The men outside seemed to regard it as a good joke that Morris had picked up such a companion.

“He’ll skin the dude all right enough,” said one of them from a lazy position at the watering trough.

“You bet he will,” added another. “If the dude has any money left after Morris gets through betting with him he’s in luck.”

“If he has any money left,” said another, “Morris will probably take him down and take it away from him.”

“I dunno ’bout dat. Did you notice the dude’s neck and shoulders?”

While the men outside were talking, Nick and his companion seated themselves in a small room opening from the bar-room.

Nick ordered drinks and cigars liberally, and Morris was soon on the road to a high old time.

“Say, young feller,” he said, lighting a cigar and turning away just long enough to permit Nick to empty his fourth glass of whisky into a spittoon, “you knocked them fellows around pretty lively over there.”

“I was dooced scared, doncher know.”

“Well you acted to me just like a man who enjoyed it.”

“I weally didn’t know when I hit them. Dooced lucky, wasn’t I?”

“’Twasn’t all luck, I guess,” said Morris, eyeing the dude suspiciously.

“Oh, come now. You mustn’t talk that way to a fellah.”

“Hello, there,” shouted one of the loafers from the outside, pushing the door open with his foot, “be you fellers goin’ on de retired list?”

“We’re busy just now,” said Morris, angrily.

“All right,” said the other, with a loud guffaw, “work de dude fer all dere is in it.”

Morris started excitedly to his feet.

“What do you want here anyhow?” he demanded.

“No offense,” said the other, with a smile, “I just thought I’d look in and ask about the news over town.”

“It’s too early for news over town. There ain’t much going on there till afternoon. You mean about the races, of course?”

“I’d like to know how to win a couple of hundred.”

“You won’t find out from me if you stand there all day.”

“Well, so long,” said the other, closing the door with a bang. “I didn’t know but what de dude might stand treat,” he added, sneaking back to his companion.

“Aw,” said Nick, as the fellow disappeared. “Just touch the bell and we’ll have something more to drink.”

By this time Morris was considerably under the influence of liquor.

He swallowed his whisky sullenly, and looked at his companion after the wise manner of half-drunken men.

“You didn’t get a bet yet,” he said, with a hiccough.

“That’s what I’m waiting for. You promised, you know.”

“Tell you, pardner, I took you into that pool-room to do you out of a couple of hundred, and I’d a got forty fer doin’ it.”

“That’s quite awful!” exclaimed Nick, throwing up his hands in astonishment.

“But I liked the way you bumped those toughies up there, and you have acted square in bringing me here, so that I’m goin’ ter give you a tip.”

“Weally, now?”

“Yes; you’re a man of your word, ain’t you?”

“’Pon honah!”

“Well, then, I want you to promise me that you will give me half a century after you get your money.”

“Weally, now, isn’t that too much?”

“You can make enny amount you like, pard.”

“I might lose, you know.”

“Will you give me fifty if yer win?”

“Why, yes.”

“Well, den, you bet on Daisy for de handicap to-morrow.”

“But, my deah sir, what’s the mattah with Denver Bay?”

“De hoss ain’t in it.”

“But his name is on the cah’d, deah boy.”

“I tell you,” said the other, pounding his fist on the table in drunken impatience, “de hoss ain’t in it!”

“But, my deah boy, I’ve got money bet on Denver Bay now.”

“You’ll get dat back.”

“I don’t see how.”

“If de hoss don’t start all de bets will be declared off, won’t dey?”

Nick sat for some moments in silence.

“Here are the two schemes,” he thought. “Johnson wants the horse to run and be beaten, and Brower does not want the beast to start.”

“Wa’t do you say?”

Nick was thinking fast, and did not answer for some time.

“I’m responsible for the Brower end of the scheme,” he thought. “The fellow doesn’t dare to risk his ten thousand dollars.”

The detective smiled as he thought how little confidence crooked sporting men have in each other’s word.

“In this case,” he thought, “it may be that Brower doubts Johnson’s ability to fix the horse. He’s afraid of some failure in the plan at the last moment.”

The detective now had two plans to select from.

He could defeat the Johnson and Brower plots, and see that the race would be a square one, or he could allow Brower to have his way, and thus cause all bets to be declared off.

The first plan, if the horse should win, would place his client in an excellent position.

On the other hand, if the horse should lose after all it would only increase his difficulty.

The second plan would release Wheeler’s twenty thousand dollar stake money, and leave him just as he stood before engaging in the enterprise.

This plan of preventing the horse from entering the race had been more than hinted at when Chick had appeared at the stables as a jockey on the previous night.

His report on the matter that morning had caused Nick to talk as he had at the broker’s office.

From that conversation with Wheeler, every word of which was still fresh in his mind, Nick had satisfied himself that the broker was anxious to let the stake remain if there was any prospect of securing a fair race.

This was one point in favor of the project of balking the rascals in their efforts to keep the horse out.

Another strong point in the mind of the detective was to teach Johnson and his gang of criminal pool sellers a salutary lesson.

“What they aimed at in their dealings with Wheeler,” he mused, “was robbery, pure and simple. They thought to take his twenty thousand dollars without even as much as giving him a show for it.”

“Well,” said Morris, at length, “how much are you going to put up on Daisy?”

“Weally, now, I’d be betting against myself, doncher see?”

“Didn’t I tell you you’d get the money staked on Denver Bay back again?”

“Why don’t Denver Bay run?”

“Now, look here, if you’re goin’ ’round tellin’ that Denver Bay isn’t goin’ ter start you won’t be doin’ yerself enny good, and will get me into trouble. You don’t want to do that, I suppose?”

“My deah boy, of course I wouldn’t cause you any trouble.”

“If you do,” began Morris, pounding his fist upon the table, “I’ll----”

Just then the scene in the pool-room came to his mind, and glancing at the muscular form of the pretended dude he finished the sentence in a different way from that at first intended.

“I’ll lose my place.”

“Deah boy,” said the dude, who appeared to be struggling with a very deep thought, “couldn’t you make Denver Bay win the race?”

“Denver Bay,” said Morris, solemnly, “is by long odds the best horse entered for the race. He could win de purse wid half a show.”

“Weally now?”

“It’s de surest thing in the world.”

“Then,” said the dude, rising to his feet, “I’ll go and book some more money on him.”

“You’re a chump if you do.”

“But I weally must, you know.”

Morris had as yet given no intimation as to what means would be resorted to to keep the horse off the track.

This was a point upon which the detective desired further information. For this reason he continued the talk about the horse still being a possibility.

“But, deah boy, the ownah tells me that the horse will be run, and will do his best.”

“Damn the owner! He’s de biggest sucker in de whole deal.”

“But, chappie, he’s a friend of mine.”

“Well, it’s a purty pair you are, then, that’s all I’ve got to say.”

Nick rose to his feet as if about to leave the room.

“Hold on! Are you goin’ out to bet more money on Denver Bay?”

“Aw--aw--I thought I would.”

“Well, it won’t do you no good. The money will only lay in de pool-room till after de race, and den you’ll get it back.”

“Has the horse got hurt, deah boy?”

“He’s liable to get hurt before to-morrow morning.”

“Quite shocking!” said the dude, innocently. “The ownah ought to know it.”

“Damn the owner. If he wants to set around here and let his horse be used up right before his eyes let him do it. It’s no affair of mine or yours.”

“The secret is out,” thought Nick. “The brutes intend to steal into the stable to-night and cripple the beast in some way.”

“Come, young fellow,” said Morris, “I’ve talked myself dry again. Fill up de glasses once more, and we’ll get out.”

Nick gave the required order, and the fellow took down his whisky without seeing that Nick threw the contents of his glass upon the floor.

“Now, mind what I’ve told you,” said Morris, as they stood in the doorway, “and don’t give me away. I shouldn’t have said anything about it if it hadn’t been for the whisky you throwed into me.”

“’Pon me honah! I’ll not mention it to a living soul.”

As the two passed into the bar-room the sound of excited voices came from the street in front of the house.

Nick was now anxious to get away, but he paused for a moment and listened as the sounds became louder.

In a moment a small boy, clad in the costume of a jockey, dashed in at the front door, and dodged behind tables and chairs in his efforts to keep out of the reach of a red-faced fellow, who, riding whip in hand, was pursuing him.

The boy succeeded in eluding his pursuer for some moments, much to the delight of the bystanders.

At length the little fellow, in leaping backward, stumbled over a chair and fell to the floor.

Before he could rise to his feet the man had hold of his collar, and was brandishing his whip high in air.

“I’ll teach you to play your pranks on me,” he shouted, bringing the whip down upon the boy’s shrinking form.

The crowd seemed to enjoy the scene hugely, but it was not in the nature of Nick Carter to stand by and see the boy cruelly beaten.

He was about to interfere when the boy succeeded in releasing himself from the man’s hold, and sprang sobbing behind the detective for protection.

The brute made another dash at him, but the detective’s sturdy frame barred the way.

“My deah fellah,” he said, “don’t hurt the boy. What has he done?”

“He’s done enough, you confounded dude. Stand out of the way!”

“If you touch the boy again,” drawled Nick, “I shall strike you.”

The man raised the whip as though about to give the detective a lash in the face.

The crowd laughed and cheered, and made the most of the rather humorous situation.

The next moment their smiles changed to looks of astonishment.

With a quick movement, the seeming dude secured possession of the whip.

He then passed one arm half around the fellow’s head and neck, and gave him a sudden whirl that sent him spinning about the room like a top.

As he spun around the detective applied the whip with no gentle hand, and fairly whirled and lashed the fellow out of the room.

“Hurrah for de dude!” yelled a chorus of voices, as the defeated man stood outside, swearing and shaking his fists.

“I thought dere’d be some fun w’en de duller raised his whip on de dude,” said Morris. “You oughter seen him clean out a couple of plug-uglies in de pool-room to-day.”

Nick paid no attention to the remarks that were being made about him, but devoted his whole attention to the boy.

“Where do you work?” he asked, hurriedly.

“Over dere in de stables.”

“What horses are there in the stables?”

“Oh, Daisy, an’ Denver Bay, an’ a whole lot of ’em.”

“Can you get away about dark?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Well, show yourself in the road there just below the house about dusk, and I’ll pick you up in a carriage. Will you come?”

“You bet I’ll come. Dat man would ’a’ killed me if it hadn’t been for you.”

“I’m making up now for last night’s bad luck,” thought Nick, as he turned around with an insipid stare and in a drawl asked the bystanders to join him in a drink.

As he turned away from the bar a moment later he noticed a well-dressed man entering the front door and hastening directly up-stairs, as though desirous of remaining unnoticed.

The man was Brower, with whom Nick had, in the disguise of a business man, made the ten-thousand dollar bet the night before.