Chapter II: A Little Circus

The knockdown created very little excitement in the room.

Reports from the races were coming in every few minutes, and nearly every one there had more or less money at stake.

A few collected about the fallen man, however, and Nick had no difficulty in slipping quietly out of the way.

He had no idea, however, of leaving the place.

His bet had started a little ripple of talk regarding Denver Bay, and he knew that by remaining he might hear something to his advantage.

At the end of the basement farthest from the street were a number of stalls used by sporting men and others for private consultation.

As the crowd was now congregated around the main desk in front many of these stalls were empty.

Nick stepped noiselessly into one of them, and closed the door.

A moment later any one glancing into the stall would have seen a half intoxicated countryman sitting with his chair tipped back against the wall, his hat pulled down over an inflamed face, and his feet resting upon the table.

Not a single trace of the well-to-do cattle drover remained.

“I may have to stay here a long time,” he thought, “and may as well have some cigars. Besides a whisky glass properly placed on the table can do no harm.”

The order was given and promptly filled.

The waiter by no means suspected that his seemingly inebriated customer was the person in quest of whom the now infuriated bully was roaring about.

Before leaving home Nick had left a note addressed to Chick, instructing him to call at the place toward which he was directing his steps, and he now awaited with some impatience the arrival of his assistant.

The afternoon passed slowly away.

The races were over, and the stalls were filling up.

In some of them people were dividing and spending the money won during the day, while in others angry losers were laying plans by which they might account for their sudden lack of funds.

After a time two men, evidently none too sober, entered the stall next to the one occupied by the detective, and ordered more drinks.

“It’s a bloomin’ shame for a feller ter drop his wad like that,” said one, in a maudlin tone, “specially when he’s on de inside an’ oughter know. But you lost more’n I did, an’ I sympathize with you.”

“I don’t want none o’ your sympathy,” said the other, evidently a little nearer sober than his companion; “I’m broke now, but I can get plenty of money when I get over to the stable.”

“You’re a liar! you’re always workin’ that bluff about the stable. You don’t get any more stuff’n I do. Wot you got to do wid de stable, say?”

“W’at I got to do wid de stable?” said the other, in as sarcastic a tone as he could command. “I’m chambermaid for Denver Bay, I am.”

“You’re a nice man to be around a racing stable,” said the other, with an oath. “W’at do you know about a hoss?”

“You’re a sucker,” said the other. “You wait till the Denver Bay runs, and I’ll show you a wad.”

“You won’t get it on Denver Bay. You’re drunk, that’s what’s the matter with you. Doncher talk to me no more. You’re drunk.”

“You’re drunk yourself. You smell like a sour apple. Stan’ up like a man. Why doncher pack yer whisky like me?”

The last drinks had evidently been too much for the men, for Nick heard a fall as the speaker attempted to stand on his feet to show how sober he was.

Nick stood upon a chair and carefully raised his head above the narrow partition between the two stalls.

In his fall the one had carried the other down with him, and they were now clawing, chewing and punching one another in a drunken way.

In a moment they lay still, and after mumbling a curse or two fell asleep.

“I’m in for it now,” thought the detective, again seating himself in a position so that the men could not leave their stall without being seen by him. “I must stay here all night if necessary in order to cultivate the acquaintance of that fellow who acts as ‘chambermaid’ for Denver Bay.”

Just at that moment the door of his stall was opened, and a greasy looking jockey shoved his face inside.

“You don’t mean ter say you’re goin’ ter smoke them cigars?” he said, taking one from the table, and breaking it in order to inspect its contents.

“Hardly. How long have you been here?”

“Oh, just about long enough to nose around in search of a certain green countryman,” said Chick, sitting down in a chair.

“Isn’t that a bold costume for this place?”

“Bold, why?”

“These people may want to know what stable you belong to.”

“Oh, that’s all right. I’m from the South, and I never rode a horse with a record.”

“That’ll do first rate. Just skip around in there, and see what you can find out about Denver Bay; but before you go take a look at the men in the next stall. We may have further business with them.”

Chick opened the door and looked in.

“Purty drunk, I should say.”

“Yes, and I’ve got to wait around here until they get sober enough to make friends with. One of them works at a stable I want to know something about.”

Chick now left the stall and hung about the place engaging in conversation with any one who would talk with him.

In a half hour he was back with his report.

“There’s some scheme afloat in regard to Denver Bay,” he said. “They’re having great sport over an old sucker who came in here this afternoon and put up a hundred on him at fifteen to one.”

“Yes, I’m the sucker. Well, find out all you can. Don’t go far away.”

After a time Nick heard faint sounds in the adjoining stalls as though the drunken men were regaining consciousness.

As he peered cautiously over the partition one of them raised himself on his elbow, eyed his companion curiously for a moment, and then asked, in a sarcastic tone:

“W’ats de matter wid you? Had a death in de family? Or did yer gal run off wid de coachman?

“Oh, you’ve never been broke before. Well, you’d better keep quiet an’ let ’spectable people sleep, or I’ll put a charge of ’sturbin’ de peace on you. See? Hello, pardner,” he continued, as some one opened the door and walked in, “why don’t yer send in yer card?”

“You’re a couple of nice blokes!” said the new-comer. “I was afraid when you came over town that you’d get drunk. I’ll have you both run in if you don’t look out.”

“Run in nothin’. Dey can’t convict a man but once fer an offense, an’ I was put in jail thirty years ago for this same drunk. I’ll swear I haven’t been sober since. Just de same drunk all de time.”

“How long has Amos been here?”

“All the afternoon.”

“Has he done any talking?”

“Naw. His tongue’s as thick as a Congressman’s head.”

“Well, you go out somewhere and get some supper. I want to talk with him.”

As the fellow slouched out, very much improved by his brief nap, the new-comer seized the man on the floor by the shoulder and shook him roughly.

“Wake up, here!” he shouted, in a shrill voice, in his ear.

Amos opened his eyes, and finally raised himself into a chair.

“What have you been saying this afternoon?” asked the other, sharply.

“Nothin’.”

“Did you tell that drunken brute, Hazelton, anything?”

“Not a thing, s’elp me!”

The man passed out of the stall and inspected the rooms on each side.

He found one stall empty, and in the other there was only a drunken countryman sleeping with his feet on the table and his chair tipped back against the wall.

“Now, then,” he said, sitting down again, “are you sober enough to understand what I say?”

“I’m all right now,” said Amos, who really appeared to be in fair shape. “Talk away, Martin.”

Martin talked in a low tone, which, however, was loud enough to be understood by the detective.

“It’s all fixed. The horse is to be let alone and remain in good shape until the last moment. He is to be fixed after he is brought upon the track.”

“I don’t see how I’m going to do that.”

“It’s easy enough. The dose isn’t larger than a marble, and it’s rolled up in sugar, so he’ll take it fast enough. You can put it in his mouth just as you let go of the bridle at the start.”

“Is the owner posted?”

“Hardly,” said the other, with an oath. “The fool expects the horse to win the race.”

“Does he suspect anything?”

“No; he’s heard the talk, of course, but he thinks it a trick of the pool-rooms to keep his horse back.”

“How are de jockeys?”

“Why,” said the other, with another oath, “what do you suppose I got you in that stable for? If the owner had been in with the game, or if there’d been a jockey I could have depended on, I shouldn’t have needed you.”

“Well, I don’t like it a little bit. What effect will it have on de hoss?”

“It’ll just set him crazy for a minute or two, and he’ll bolt and kick and buck around just enough to lose the race.

“He probably will be all right in five minutes.

“You understand about keeping him away from the judges’ stand as long as possible, of course?”

“I ain’t goin’ ter ride him,” said the other, sullenly. “I only hope the boy that does won’t get his neck broken.”

“Oh, the boy’ll be all right. You just rush down the track when you see the break made, and fool around after the boy stops him until he has a little chance to get over the dose, so the judge won’t suspect anything. You understand now?”

“Yes,” said the other; “I understand. I wish I hadn’t had anything to do with it. Have you got any money? I’m broke.”

“You won’t drink any more to-night?”

“Not a drop.”

“Well, here’s twenty-five dollars. I may not see you again till just before the race comes off.”

“I believe,” said Amos, as he took the money, “that Denver Bay would win that race if you’d let him alone.”

“In that case it would cost my man just forty thousand dollars.”

As Martin passed out of the stall the door was left open for an instant, and Amos stood directly in front of it with the greenbacks still in his hands.

Neither he nor Martin observed the greedy look which two shabby-looking fellows who were passing at the time cast upon the money.

But Nick Carter, from his position, took it all in.

“I’m in great luck again,” he thought. “If those two loafers are the kind of fellows I think they are I’ll have a chance to help that man out of a scrape before long.”

The next moment the two men advanced to the door of the stall occupied by Amos, and stepped inside.

It was now after dark, and the part of the room in which the stalls were situated was but dimly lighted.

There was still excitement enough around the cashier’s desk to attract the attention of those who still lingered in the place.

So there was really very little risk in what the two men evidently intended doing.

As they advanced Nick leaped to the top of his table, but remained in such a position that no part of his body could be seen from the other side.

“Hello, pard,” said one of them, putting his hand familiarly upon Amos’ shoulder, “you’ve been lucky enough to-day to buy the drinks.”

“Yes, an’ hurry up!” added the other. “I’m mighty dry!”

“I lost every dollar I put up.”

“You’re lucky then to have such a fly-lookin’ chap hand you a roll like that.”

Amos sprang back and drew up his fist.

“If you come a step nearer I’ll knock you down first,” he said, “and then I’ll call the police.”

Both men drew billies and advanced toward him.

Just then a most unexpected thing occurred.

Nick Carter leaped lightly over the partition, landed upon the table between the combatants, and at once settled one of the ruffians by a well-directed kick under the chin.

The other, too astonished for a moment to make any movement of defense, was piled on top of his companion by a fist blow under his ear.

“Now, then,” said Nick, addressing the astonished horseman, “those fellows won’t lay long in that way, and we’d better get out o’ here mighty quick!”