Chapter VII: A Foot Race

“There’s something mysterious going on.”

Martin was the speaker, and Amos was listening, all attention.

“Anything new?”

“Why, there’s rumors around the stables of strange happenings last night, but no one seems to know anything definite.”

“In what way?”

“That’s what I can’t find out. People were seen to pass out late in the night and drive hurriedly away in a carriage.”

“Nobody knows who they were?”

“The jockey who is to ride Denver Bay was seen talking to one of the strangers, but you can’t get a word out of him.”

“That’s strange.”

“It’s more than strange--it’s suspicious. But, after all, we have our own scheme to work, and I have every confidence in that.”

“You have the medicine?”

“Yes.”

“Well, you’d better give it to me now. There is no knowing when we will be together again.”

Martin took a small box from his pocket, opened it, and exhibited a white, sugar-coated pill about the size of a marble.

“You can’t be too careful with this,” he said. “I had work enough getting it.”

“Is it poisonous?”

“No. It’s a compound known only to one or two people, and they charge mighty high for it. That little pill cost me a hundred round dollars.”

“It’ll make the horse stop, bolt and kick, will it?”

“It certainly will. I didn’t go into this thing without seeing it tried.”

“And the horse’ll be all right in five minutes, eh?”

“Yes, the pain will subside in less time than that. The beast will be a trifle weak for a while, but no one will notice that.”

“Isn’t there some danger of killing the jockey?”

“Let the jockey take care of himself.”

As the two men arose from the table at which they had been sitting, in a room at the hotel which the detective had visited on the previous day, Martin stopped a moment with his hand on the door and listened.

“What’s that noise?” he asked, in a startled tone.

“What noise?”

“What is that bumping sound? I’ve heard it several times lately.”

“I heard it, too,” said Amos, with a laugh, “and listened. It’s some one bumping against the wall in the next room.”

“Well, here we part for the present,” said Martin. “You do your work and I’ll do mine. You are sure you can get the pill in the hoarse’s mouth unobserved? It must be done on the track at the last moment.”

“That’s easy enough. The last thing I do is to sponge his mouth.”

“Well, don’t make any mistake. There has been an impression that Denver Bay is sure to win, and the pool boxes are just loaded down with bets.”

Thus talking, the men passed out of the room, closing and locking the door behind them. No sooner had they disappeared than there was a sudden upheaval of a long couch in one corner of the room, and Nick Carter crept from underneath it.

“Whew!” he said, drawing a long breath and wiping the perspiration from his face, “I think I should have died in there in five minutes more.”

The celebrated detective had, as a matter of fact, been concealed in the narrow space between the sofa bottom and the floor for four long hours.

Early in the day he had heard Martin engage the room, and give explicit orders that no one should be allowed to occupy it during the day.

Not long after, he had heard him make an appointment with Amos at that place.

By the use of his pick-lock Nick had entered the room and concealed himself.

He was already aware of Martin’s plans as they had stood two days before, but he thought that a change might have been made since the details were arranged in the pool-room stall, and wanted to make sure of his ground.

“They stick to their original plan,” he thought, “and I’ve had this long watch for nothing; but, after all, I was not in a position to take chances.”

He wore the dress and had the appearance of the ordinary employee of the racing stable.

He had procured badges admitting him to all parts of the grounds, the track, and the judges’ stand as well, and the little jockey had provided him with a ribbon bearing the name of Denver Bay.

This would enable him to work around the horse after he appeared upon the track.

“I imagine,” thought the detective, as he listened with his ear at the door, “that there’ll be a performance on the track to-day not down on their bills. If I’m not mistaken, Mr. Johnson will go home to-night sixty thousand dollars poorer than he thinks he will.”

The hall outside the door appeared to be deserted, and the detective pressed back the bolt, and passed out, closing the door softly after him.

The coast was clear, and he lost no time in getting outside and mingling with the crowd.

An he stepped along the walk, he felt a touch upon his arm, and turned to find Chick standing before him, still in the disguise of a jockey.

The two walked along together until they reached a secluded place, and then Nick asked:

“Did you see the sheriff?”

“Yes. Everything is all right at the jail. Brower and Morris are locked up in separate cells, and no one is the wiser for their being there.”

“Have they done any talking or sent out for friends?”

“They talk most of the time, threatening all sorts of things, and Brower has been trying all the morning to send a messenger over town to call that ten thousand dollar bet off.”

“The sheriff didn’t allow him to send out any word, did he?”

“Of course he didn’t. He understands as well as we do that that is Wheeler’s money.”

“You gave the sheriff my note, of course?”

“Yes, and he had a great laugh over it.”

“He couldn’t imagine yesterday what I wanted his men for. I suppose he knows now.”

“Then you didn’t tell him?”

“No, I didn’t tell him. I got what I wanted without doing that.”

“Now,” said Nick, “I want you on the track this afternoon when the handicap starts, and as close to Denver Bay as you can get without attracting attention.”

“Is there liable to be a scrap?”

“It strikes me that I have been in about enough scraps in this case.”

After some further conversation the detective and his assistant parted, and the former walked slowly back to the hotel.

Amos was nowhere in sight when he reached the crowd lounging about the place.

Five minutes later Nick stood in front of the counter of a small drug store a short distance from the track.

The clerk in charge came out from behind the prescription screen to wait upon him.

“I want a sugar pill,” said Nick, with a smile.

The clerk reached out his hand and took down a jar of homeopathic pellets.

“Hold on,” said Nick, “those are too small. Besides, they are medicated, are they not?”

“Nothing but pure sugar,” said the clerk, putting a few into his mouth and chewing them with evident relish.

“That ain’t what I want,” said Nick, stepping around to the show case where a line of marbles and toys were displayed. “I want just one about the size of one of those marbles. It must be perfectly round and smooth and hard. Can you make one?”

“I certainly can.”

“Well, do so at once.”

The clerk retired behind the screen, and in a few minutes came out and stood behind the counter facing the detective.

“I’ve got it made just as you ordered, but it will take a few moments to dry.”

“It will be hard, will it?”

“As hard as a rock.”

Nick purchased some cigars, and sat down by the window to smoke.

As he did so, Amos passed along on the opposite side of the street and entered a small livery stable.

“What sort of place is that over there?” Nick asked.

“Rather a tough joint, I should say. They have very little business when there are no races on.”

Nick removed the badge indicating that he was a follower of Denver Bay, and pinned the steel badge of a deputy sheriff upon his vest.

“Here’s your pill. It’s big enough to sweeten a cup of coffee with.”

“I’ll sweeten more than that with it,” said Nick, as he took it, paid the bill, and hastened off to the livery stable.

Amos sat on a bench near the driveway, conversing with several attaches of the place.

“Here comes a new deputy,” said one of the loungers, as Nick stepped up. “You haven’t been on the force long, have you, partner?”

“Just got on this morning.”

“I thought I hadn’t seen you around before.”

“As I was saying,” broke in Amos, evidently continuing a conversation, “the fellow is the best jumper I ever saw. I don’t know how far his jump was, but it must have been a clean twelve feet.”

“Speaking about jumping,” said Nick, “I can do a little of that myself.”

Nick, in his present disguise was rather a green-looking specimen, and the loafers scented some fun at once.

“How far can you jump?” asked one.

“I don’t know.”

“Let’s go back in the barn and try,” suggested another.

Nick walked back into the barn without saying another word, and took off his coat and vest.

“That’s purty good,” said Amos, as Nick sprang lightly out, making only a fair jump, “but I can beat it.”

“I’ll bet you five dollars you can’t.”

As Amos started to take off his coat and vest, Nick picked up his own.

When Amos threw his garments down Nick threw his own on top of them.

The money was staked, and Amos won easily.

“That’s hard luck,” said Nick. “Can you run as well as you can jump?”

“I can do some running,” said one of the men.

“I want to get my money back on this jumper,” said Nick, throwing himself down on the pile of clothes. “I’ll bet five dollars that he can beat any man in the party for a block.”

“I can’t do it,” said Amos, “but I’ll try it if you make the bet.”

He winked at the others as he spoke.

They had found a sucker, and they would divide the money, Amos, of course, losing.

The loafers all rushed to the door as the two rushed down the street, and Nick followed with a coat and a vest in his hand.

He remained behind the rest, however, and seemed to have some particular business with the pocket of the vest he held in his hand.

“You’re beat,” said one, as the runners reached the corner.

“I guess I ain’t no good,” said Nick, as Amos came back.

“Hello, there,” said Amos, all out of breath, “you’re trying to put on my vest.”

“That’s so,” said Nick, with a wink. “It looks a little newer than mine.”

Amos put on the garment, threw on his coat, and hastened to the rear end of the barn, where Nick plainly saw him fumbling with a box which he had taken from the vest pocket.

“You’ll find a pill there, all right enough,” thought Nick, as he walked away, “but not one calculated to make a horse lose a race. In the meantime,” he added, rolling a hard, round substance in his pocket, “I’ll keep this and have it analyzed.”