Evening Star Newspaper, July 19, 1925, Page 60

THE SUNDAY STAR, WASHINGTO THE:=WHIR OF WINGS {1 BY GERALD BEAUMONT. ™ Not All the Thoroughbreds Are snorted old man “Pigeons and a woman! What's_this race track coming to? Ain't I got any rights? Who stabled that combination Dext to me? Who—" The track secretary raised a placat- ing hand. “Now, listen, Benn: Brown; that's Dusty's s and—-" “Don’t care who she is! My horses don't like pigeons, and I don't like women. Get her off the hill or I'll ship to Canada. That's final!” Benny Benson stamped wrathfully out the door. The Winter meeting at was only three days old, but it quite within the natural orde; things that trouble should hav ready developed among the quaint characters who eked out a precarious existence on Frying Pan Hill. There wa in that section, for it was Tia J Row, the haven of equine derelicts and “frying: van tra " so named because a halter, a la and a frying pan con stituted their equipment. The frying pan was e unmistakable emblem of nity—a sort of culinary catch-all, by virtue of which squirrels, brush rab- bits and even the domesticated mas- cots of opposing stables were made to disappear with a celerity never sur- passed by Houdini or Herrmann the Great. Frying Pan Hill was a region where anything might happen, and usually did. Arguments were endless and tfibulations unceasing. But hopes ran high, though the horses san slow. Dreams were Napoleonic, at least in their concept, and the strange dice of fate were rolled once by Lady Luck and a hundred times by the devil The Information Kid was among the first to perceive the novelty in th urbance on Frying Pan Hill the first time he had ever heard of a woman trainer D WO der old man Benson was grouch Benny disliked anything that wasn't “‘perfectly regular,” even though his own career was the most Irregular on the American turf. And pigeons! Poverty Row was no stranger to dogs, cats, goats, gamecocks, parrots and even monkeys—but nothing had hith- erto lived there that possessed wings with which to escape! Henry the Rat confirmed prising news. “Kid,” he reported, all right! Seen the lad horses and five pigeons. checked with a bucket and a sponge and rubbing cloths. She bandages ‘em herself, and rubs ‘em, and- Rubs the pigeons?” “No, no—the beetles! Dusty Brown's horses—two of ‘em. He died this Win ter with the con ssed in France. She's his sister. Gonna try and square his debts. Fat chance! The sheriff'il attach the horses, and them gyps the hill will have pigeon potpie. “Nags any good, Henry?" Well, M Brown likes 'em, and be the coroner might lay a dollar the line, but those mules will aever run for my dough. Ill play the plgeons if I get a charce; there's the | «lass of this track. Boy, you ought to | ®ee them pigeons do their stuff! Talk | ubout Man o’ War! Miss Brown's got @ little go-getter—gray bird with blue | markings—that knocked all the clock ers right off the rail this morning. Benny Benson was working old Snow- face a mile in about one forty-six The old horse looked pretty good un- 1l that little pigeon: hooked up with him on the back stretch. They was on | even terms for a furlong, and then the pigeon cut loose at the thremquarter pole. Good night! ‘Even old man Ben- son forgot himself and timed the bird instead of the horse: that's what made him so mad. He wouldn’t give us no figures, but I'm here to tell you that Miss Brown's pigeon went by the mile pole in one-o-nothin’! Looked like the horse was backin’ up. P THE Information Kid was visibl impressed, ng which Henry proceeded further to enlighten his lord of life. | “Boy‘ you've been overlookin’ some- | thing. Them pigeons are vour dish! There's a story in 'em. They're Bel. | cian thoroughbreds with war records The little pigeon I was tellin’ you| about was decorated by Pershing him- | self. Frenchy Bonvilie knows the story. He was with Dusty in France. 'here was a detachment being cut up v machine-gun fire, and they couldn’t use airplanes or radio. They cut loose this pigeon with a message to head- guarters, miles away It covered the distance in exactly 25 minutes and ot there with blood on its breast and 1 foot shot away! Ain’t that one for the book?' The Information Kid let out a vell. His gray eves glittered like electric stars [GEONS! Benson. [ That's Miss ster, you see. Tia Juana was the sur “she’s up th mysel * At's the kind « stuff I What's the name of the bird?" “Helen of roy said Henry, and added, thoughtfully: “Must be a filly pigeon 3 The Informat enough to membered and lanky love! n Kid had rouse his curiosity. Dusty Brown, a taciturn Texan—pretty decent sort of a fellow, who always seemed to be running in hard lueck. Dusty had served overseas with the Signal Corps and returned with spots on his lung: that not even desert air could heal Now his sister w ing to carry on with two horses ve pigeons Outside the last hox stall on the left as you go up the final avenue the Kfd came across the object of his search. Miss Brown was vigorously sponging off a bay mare with mean and a waspish frame. Dusty’s sort of stage type of spin- angular, forbidding, with gray hair combed severely back from s and challenging black ouch she looked up. nd her figure tense. Torning’, Miss Brown,” he smiled. Sorry T haven't got the keys to the plant or I'd present 'em to you. Your brother was ace-high with me. They don't make ‘em better—regular fellow, salt of the earth. Understand vou've got some carrier pigeons up here. Now, if there's one thing in the world that I'm interested in, it's them little thoroughbreds of the sky. Would you mind showing me the war medal that was presented to Helen of Troy?" For a moment Miss Brown’s expres slon did not change. She continued to glare at him. Just as the tension a proached the snapping point Du: sister tossed the sponge into a bucket. | She dried her hands and pointed to- ward the open door of a_four-by-six tackle room.” which on Frying Pan Hill must serve all the purposes of home, sweet home “If you don’t mind bucket,” said Miss Brown, “we can talk in there, T think. You seem to be 1 respectable young man.” heard He re- d sitting on a FEW minutes later the famous young knight of the paddock and Miss Brown of Frying Pan. Hill. ob- livious to their surroundings, were lay- tng the foundation of a permanent friendship The Information Kid was deaf to the bugle calls that summoned field after field to the post. It was not so much what Miss Brown was saving that held him: it was what she didn't say and what he divined—a lonely, unnatural life, stunted by self-denial harren as the unwatered sands of the Sahara and illumined only by the flame of devotion to a brother now _gone, Under the mask fhat occasion- ally melted the Kid caught glimpses of a personality that fascinated him It was as if Dusty’s sister wanted to be human and didn't know how. She was prim, dignified, cold, except when | he spoke of her brother or her eyes followed the fluttering pigeons that bobbed and strutted in the doorway, iterating and reiterating their plain- tive plea: Curra d’hoo—curra d’hoo! Love me and I'll love you! At such times a flood of feminine tenderness welled to the surface, changing the little woman's whole ap- pearance.. But it ebbed quickly when the conversation turned to more prac- tical matters. The Information Kid, having gradually broached the sub: ject of present-day problems, men- tioned the name of Miss Brown's neighbor—old man_Benson. “Humph!” said Dusty's sisteér, sit- ting up straight. “If he says another word to me I'll box hig ears. What's more, if he touches one>of my pigeons I'll kill him. Why do they issue a license to an old fool like him?" The Information Kid suppressed an incipient grin. “Lady,” he sighed, “it's like this: There’s a lot of queer guys in this game, but I never met one yet that didn't have a redeeming feature. Take Benny Bensor, for example—biggest grouch on any man's track. You wou'dn't think there was a soft side to Be#any Benson, now, would you?” Miss Brown's reply was a contemp- tuous sniftx xactly,” said the Kid. vas there ‘at Blue Meadows the day Benny and old Snowface got ruled oft the track.” Dusty's sister looked puzzled. “0ld Snowtace?" _“Advance Guard,” explained the Kid. *“Same horse Benny's got up h It’s the only one he ever owned. chestnut with a white blaze— body calls him old Snowface. king of the platers, lady—10 years old and still knocking 'em over. Noth- ing fancy, you understand, but the best horse of his class in America. If you haven't seen him turn loose at the head of the stretch, you haven't scen anything.” . Miss Brown offered no comment, and the Information Kid continued thoughtfully: “When Advance Guard was a 3-year- old he was badly hurt in a train acci- dent and his owner was going to shoot him. Benny bought the horse, spent a whole year nursing him and brought him back to the races as good as ever. Lady, it costs money to do that. Benny was broke. All he had was the one horse, you see, and he had to en- ter him in" the selling races so's he could make enough money to support them both. This meant, under the rules, that any rival owner could claim Advance Guard for the entrance price plus the amount of the winning purse But most owners, knowing that Benny only had the one horse and loved him like a child, agreed among themselves to let the old man run his horse with- out any risk of losing him. It was just a gentlemen’s agreement, and as such it was kept until Black Murdoch put in his claim at Juarez one after- noon and insisted upon his legal rights. The judges were peeved about it, but they couldn’t do anything. Old man Benson was in the winners' cir- cle, petting Advance Guard, when they handed him the news. Murdoch came up with a halter to claim the horse. *‘Sorry, Benny,' he said, ‘but rules are rules, and I've bought your hor: “Well, 1 0, you haven't,’ answered the old man. “‘All you've done is made me and my horse exiles for life. Gentle- men, good:| And he threw a blunket across Advance Guard's back, jumped up and rode him straight through the crowd, out the north exit and over the International Bridge. Of course, the judges had to rule him off, but they stood up and took off their hats when they did it.” * X % x "THE Information Kid paused, It a cigarette and exhaled reflectively. > ears in the bushes! Outlawed for six years. Nothing but the fly-by- night circuits and the county fairs and match races in the tank towns. But somehow they managed to get along, though I guess there were a lot of times when both of them were pretty hungry. Old Snowface learned to run on any kind of a track and in all kinds of weather. Today he holds the record between the post office and the far turn in the road in most any town you can name. You asked me a te ago, Miss Brown, why they nted a license to an old fool like t. Well, I'll have to admit I was among those who headed the petition for his reinstatement. Racing is the sport of kings, lady, but in this coun- try the kings all travel incog.” Miss Brown had resumed her spin- ster manner. She looked worn and tired. She turned away gan to mix feed in a hung: cket for the pigeons that hovered in her ——_ GOT SOME CARRIER “MORNING, MISS BROWN,” HE SMILED. " On the Track When Race is Run. He swept a rough hand over the velvet nostrils of the big chestnut, but whatever comment he had intend- ed was checked by a sudden whir of wings overhead. A flock of pigeons descended, swerved, and swept on, led by the blue-gray Helen of Troy. “Drat those fool birds,” said Benny “Whoa, boy! Now, you see how they scare a horse?” But to the Information Kid it did not seem that the great gelding was alarmed. Advance Guard had merely thrown up his head suddenly. wheeled in a half circle, and then stood mo- tionless, his eyes following the fiight of the pigeons. The afternoon sun made the veteran thoroughbred a brazen statute, heroic in pose and pro- portion. He held the attitude until the whir of wings ceased and the last pigeon had faded into the blue. There was no fear in the large and lustrous eyes, but there was something there— something almost human in its poig nant appeal. “Pigeons,” mumbled old man_ Ben- son. ‘“Pigeons and a woman! Darn- ed if I don't ship to Canada!” But there was no sincerity in the threat. Christmas came and went, the old year retired to its stable, and Father Time sent a New Colt dancing up to the barrier. Still old man Ben son and Advance Guard remained at Tia Juana. It did not help matters much when Advance Guard was beaten a neck in a race on which Benny Benson had figured to clean up. The Infor- mation Kid attributed the defeat to a bit of racing luck and a bad ride, but Benny was worried. He had pre pared his horse carefully, and ** was the first time old Snow-Face had failed to make good en the money was down. He had “hung” in the last 50 yards, and that was not like the big chestnut. Miss Brown seemed to be having her troubles, too. One after another the pigeons had vanished, vie*'~s of hawks or feline foes. Only Helen of Troy remained. a lonely, blue- winged pilgrim of the sky. Again the Information Kid learned something from Dusty’'s sister. “She misses her mate,” explained Miss Brown. ‘“When pigeons are per- mitted to make their own selection they remain faithful to the one com- panion until death.” ““Well, you got to hand it to 'em,” approved the Kid. *“Too bad you can't put Helen in a stable entry and let her fly for your money.” He was thinking of Miss Brown's equine contenders, who had not sucy ceeded in reducing Dusty's debts to any appreciable extent. e SORT of armed neutrality now | existed between old man Benson and Miss Brown. He still felt that a race track was no place for a woman, but he no longer protested openly; he no longer spoke about shipping to Canada. He seemed willing to let matters rest as they were 8o long as Miss Brown con- tinued to mind her own business. He even went so far as to commit him- self to a matutinal grunt when they | passed each other mornings on the | narrow path that led up the hill. The Information Kid, watching de- velopments, becarne aware that some- thing had gone wrong with Advance Guard. The grand old king of the bushes was not himself. Benny Ben son, in a shaky voice, admitted as much. “First time I ain't been able to help him, Kid. Don’t know what's wrong, and the track veterinary can't dope it out, either. The horse ain't slep’ in a month. “How d'ye know, Benny?" “Tell by his bedding. I put down fresh straw every night, and in the morning it's just the way vou see it now.” The hustler looked down and noted that the floor of the stall was covered with straw that had been chopped into fine pleces by the restless tread of hoofs. He knew what that meant. “You're right, Benny. He's gotten to be a nightwalker, and that means there’s something troubling him. He's nervous; there’s something on _his mind. Are you sure he ain't lonely”" Benson was indignant. ‘Lonely? Lonely? Why, he's got me, ain't he? The young hustler grinned and lit a cigarette. “Yeh, he's got you, Benny: that's what made me think he might be lonely. Now, don't get ex- cited, pal! I'll explain—-"" “No, you won't!” said Benny. “You won't explain anything. You're one of those fresh young guys that go around advertisin® their ignorance. Never owned a horse in your life, and try to tell me what's the matter with mine! Do I look like I'm lonesome? Well, if I ain’t, why should the horse be? Ain’'t we lived together, and eat together, and slept together, and traveled all over the country together? I'm still here, ain't 1? Then—why, dog my cats—get out o' here, or I'll brain you with a bucket!"” The Information Kid bowed with!| exaggerated politeness. ‘“Allah bless and keep you!" said he. “My hunch right. Both you and the horse the same thing. The only dif- “UNDERSTAND YOU'VE PIGEONS UP HERE.” wake. The Information Kid saluted and set off down the hill. At the bottom of the hill he en- countered Benny Benson, leading Ad- vance Guard, the battle-marked king of the selling platers. They made a picture that hglted the Information Kid in his tracks. Benny was prob- ably not more than 50 vears old. It was the rusty black clothes, battered felt hat and unshaven stubble on his | cheeks that caused puople to refer |to him as “old man” Benson. He {had the glum, unsweetened counte ance of a cantankerous old bachelor ference is that old Snow-Facgq sensed it first. You're still runnin' in blinkers. So long, Benny; see you again some time!’ | right on his shoulder. | next 21 days. | returned to winning form. E: | Guard silent, suspicious, resentful, perform ing the functions of valet and lady's mald to a pair of equine rivals and breadwinners. Old Snow-face was submitting apathetically to his master’s touch. The thoroughbred seemed to have lost interest in the sport he had graced so long. But suddenly he quickened to life. Up came the famous golden head with its white blaze; sensitive ears flexed alertly forward, and Advance Guard stood to attention. The Information Kid caught the whir of wings, and looked up.. A minia- ture airplane, prepelied by plumes of lavender, shot by, wheeled and float- ed down to its empty cote. Helen of Troy rested there a moment and then fluttered toward the roof of Advance Guard's stall. The crippled little widow sounded a timid appeal: “Cur- ra-dhoo . Curra-dhoo.” 0ld Snow-face moved forward a step. “Whoa!" said old man Benson. “Did I tell you to move? What's got into you?” The Information Kid laughed and went on his way. It was two weeks before he spoke to Benny Benson again. Advance Guard's owner, sore- ly troubled, approached the young hustler. “Son,” he faltered, “‘wish you'd tell me ’bout that hunch of yours. Seems like nobody else can help me. I only got the one horse, and I don't figure to ever have an- other. Guess you know what I think of him.” The hustler put a comforting arm around the shoulders of his friend. “Tell you what to do, Benny. When you bed Advance Guard down to- night, leave the top half of the stall door open, and then go away. Don't show up until daylight.” Benson began to sputter. cut him short. “Don't ask any ques- tions, Benny. All you have fo do Is leave that door open and keep away. You wouldn't do that much if I was to tell you any more. Seein’ is be- lievin’, Benny.. Come up to the hill about’5 o'clock tomorrow morning, and it my hunch is any good vou'l learn something.” oK ok % IDAWN was just climbing the Mex- fcan mountains when Advance Guard’s owner came toiling up Fry- ing-pan Hill. The Information Kid was shivering outside the stall. He held up a warning hand. Mitt me, B-Benny!” he chattered. 0 e-easy, or you'll w-wake him The Kid “G up.” Old man Benson tiptoed forward, peering into the darkened stall. Ad- vance Guard was asleep. The great chestnut rested contentedly on Hhis bed of straw, long legs relaxed, eyes closed and head dropped low. “What's that funny noise?" whis- pered old man Benson. “If that's him breathin’, he's got a cold. Dog my cats, I told you now to- Shut up!” hissed the Kid. you ever hear a pigeon lullaby be- fore? That's Helen of Troy! Look close, and you'll see her roosting Told you old Snow-face was lonesome! He want- ed a stable pal. Well, he's got one now. Being a widow pigeon, Helen knew just how to go about it. Cheer up, Benny; it ain't gonna rain no more “Gosh!” said Benny. ““One of them fool pigeons! Old horse must be in his second childhood. Gosh!” “All you have to do now, Benny," said the Kid, “is to play up to Miss Brown. That's her pigeon, and when she finds out what kind of company it's keeping there's going to be trou ble. You'd better get on the right side of the lady; you'd better apologize for trying to run her off the track. If you don’t help her win some races, she’ll lock up the pigeon!" “Hope she does!” snorted Benny. “Pigeons and a_woman! What's this track coming to? Darn if I don't ship to Canada tomorrow!" But, of course, he didn't! the Rat burst into the tra rant a few mornings later. ten,” he implored. son got a boy?" The Information Kid replied em- phatically in the negative. “Then it must be the old man him self,” said Henry. *“He's shaved off his whiskers, and he looks ltke a two- vear-old. Just passed him going up the hill with Dusty's sister. Strike me blind, if the lady wasn't laughin'! Are them two nuts gonna team up like the horse and pigeon? Do we couple 'em in the betting? Huh? * & xlx ADVANCE GUARD came home in front that afternoon, and followed it up with seven more victories in the The great chestnut had ery hus- tler on the track was in clover, for old Snow-face was the idol of the fra- ternity—the one best bet for all those care-free knights of the turf whose mission in life was to outguess their neighbors. Even Henry the Rat, who usually doubted everything, was now among the steady supporters of Ad- vance Guard. As usual, Henry had an “angle” all his own. ““The pigeon tips it off when the horse is going to win,” he explained to the Kid. “Ain’t you wise to it yet? Well, listen: Whenever Advance is racing, the pigeon. follows him down the hill and flies around the track while the fleld is going to the post. Then it goes up on the roof of the grandstand and_ lights on one side of the wire or the other. If it's the side beyond the winning post, go right down and bet your shoes. The old gee-gee is in!" The Information Kid pondered a moment. “But Henry, how can you figure that way? Old Snow-face hasn't dropped a race yet?" “That's just it,” said Henry. “The pigeon ain’t lit yet on the other side of the wire! The Kid knew better than to argue the matter any further. Things hap- pen on a race track that not even a hustler can explain. He learns to ac- cept them without inquiring too deep- ly into the why and wherefore. And if he can profit by the result, so much the better. Miss Brown's pigeon and Old Man Benson's horse had become insepara- ble, and now their owners were often seen together. It was the first court- ship in the history of Frying-pan Hill, and naturally the residents were slow to recognize it. Even the Information Kid was not certain. He knew, how- ever, that something was in the afr. Benny Benson, who used to guard his roll with safety pins, had opened a bank account for the first time in his life. He had acquired a safety razor, a second suit of clothes and an unmis- takable sense of importance. This last was reflected ‘principally in his atti- tude toward Dusty's sister. Dusty himself would hardly have had the “Didn’t Henry restau- ‘Say, lis- ‘“Has Benny Ben jtemerity to be so domineering. Old Map Benson strutted around like an officious rooster. A dozen times a day he crossed to what had once been for- bidden territory and proceeded to lay down the law. ‘‘Now, see here, Matilda. you mustn't put that horse up yet. He ain’t cooled jout. And look at the bandages! He sauntered away, shaking his|Diddt I tell you to let me do that? head dubiously. At the lower end of the avenue of stalls the youthful knight of the bet- ting ring paused for a backward look. He saw the tense, angular figure of Miss Brown leading Princess Q into the sunshine for her morning brush. Not 20 feet away, old man Benson Didn’t I? Dog my cats, Matilda, if that ain't just like a woman! Gimme that bandage and you go and sit down!” The amazing thing was that Miss Brown stood for it. Her militancy was gone. Dusty’s sister had grown soft- eyed and timid. Henry the Rat had gloomy forebod- was ministering to Advance Guard: rusty old bachelor and prim middl ings. ‘T think there's golng to be a murder around here, Kid. Old Man —a mask almost as forbidding as that | aged maiden, keeping their backs de-|Benson don't do nothin’ any more but fiorn by Dusty's sister, liberately, tucned upon each -qther; lboss Miss Brown, Maybe.she's. the JULY 19, 3 D.-C., 1925— PART THE INFORMATION KID WAS THE FIRST TO CATCH THE PICTURE. “HELEN OF TROY IN THE LEAD.” HE SHRIEK kind that responds to punishment, but I dunno. I seen 'em comin’ down the hill together & little while ago, and it looked to me like she was getting ready to hit him and run.” The Information Kid chuckled and then grew serfous. “So long as the pigeon and the horse don't break we're all right. Advance Guard has been assigned top weight in the clos- ing day handicap. They're going to ask the old boy to carry a hundred and twenty-eight pounds for a mile and a quarter.” “One hundred and twenty-eight!” gasped Henry. “That's charity for you! Why don't they put the grand- stand on his back and tie up one leg? Somebody must be sick of seeing that old horse come down in front. He ain’t going to start, is he? What?” “Sure is,” confirmed the Kid, “and what's more, Henry, he'll carry every cent the old man’s got. Benny's been pointing for that race all year, and he can’t afford to back out now. He's been racing his horse into condition for that one event, and if he wins it I wouldn't be surprised to see him re- tire."” “Yes, but a hundred and twenty- eight pounds—-" “Yeh, that makes it look bad. Still, that horse has been running 10 points above his normal rating, and I'd hate to bet against him. Seems like that pigeon has lent him wings.” ok x % BUT & bombshell exploded one morn- ing among the railbirds who were clocking early workouts. French Bon- ville hurled it ““Miss Brown went North last night and took her pigeon! “What!" “I'm tellin’ you sumpy'in’! She paid up the last of Dusty's debts, sold her horses and told Old Man Benson he was right—a woman didn't belong on a race track. Stlver Dream Charley says she took her pigeon and went away cryin’, and Benny just stood there, rubbin' his head and lookin' like somebody had hit him with an ax."” Henry the Rat squeaked shrilly “Didn't T tell you it was comin'? The lad pulied the hit an’ run! Benson had it comin’ to him, if you ask me! 1f he'd treated the ladv like the horse treated the pigeon, everything would ‘a_been Jake.” Long Shot Murphy agreed to this, but insisted that Miss Brown had no right to take away the pjgeon. He was silenced by Henry. “It's her pigeon, ain't it? You don’t think Benny would give the lady his horse, do you?”’ The Information Kid took no part in the argument. He thought he knew what had prompted Miss Brown to run away. He even hazarded wild guess as to what use she might put that pigeon. The angle that in- terested him most was the probable effect upon Benny Benson and Ad- vance Guard. The closin-day handi- cap was only a week distant. The young king of the hustlers visited Frying Pan Hill and greeted Benny Benson diplomatically. Benny tried to carry matters off with a high hand. “Yep, she took my advice finally. Woman's got no business in this game. Pigeon got to be a nuls- ance, anyway. Nope, don’t know where they went. Get yourself a good bet on my horse, young man; don’t mind tellin’ you that he’s feelin’ pretty good. So'm'I The Information Kid went in search ilver Dream Charley. *I ain’t ," sald the latter, “but I think gone to Canada. When Dusty was racing on the Canadian circuit he had a little Summer home near Wind- sor. How do you like old Snow Face for the bi race The Kid answered nonchalantly “He's got a chance.” Later in the day he made friends with the station agent “East via San Francisco and Port- land," sald that worthy. “I remem- ber the lady because she had a pigeon in a basket. Said she knew the rules better than T did.” “How far ig Portland from here, and en would the lady get there?” She'd get there Wednesday; over twelve hundred miles, almost the length of the coast, and with a lot| of high ranges in between. I wouldn't | advise walkin'." | The Kid answered softly, “I don't! suppose you would. But don't get the idea, brother, that the only speed sheet in this world s a raflroad time- table. The closing handicap is on Saturday, and if I understand you right, s Brown reaches Portland Wednesday, and that's over twelve hundred miles away. Well, I'll info the ugiverse I'm stumped! Fare thee well, brother, there is no power or might save in Allah!” * KAk N the closing days of the meet Old Man Benson kept pretty mu to himself. Advance Guard work out in the early mornings and tk retired to his stall to peer all day from his half-open door at gathering clouds and to listen in vain for the | familiar flutter of wings. Friday morning it began to rain heralding a late storm that was sweeping down from the North. Sat urday noon it was still raining hard, and the track had become a sea of mud. A high wind added to the dis comfort of the crowd. Shrewd stu- dents of form put aside their dope books, realizing that under these con- ditions past performances counted for little. Picking the winner of the han- dicap was solely a matter of guess work. Even the Information Kid was unable to answer the eager questions that were flung at him by his custom- ary patrons. His instincts were all in favor of old Snow-face, but the last minute developments operated against the big chestnut. Johnny who was to have ridden Advance Guard, was thrown in the second race and badly hurt. The only boy avail- able in the emergency was Wee Willie Scott, midget apprentice. Willie tipped the scales at only 95, which meant that old Snow-face would have to carry 33 pounds of lead in the sad- dle—and a pound of lead is equal to a pound and a half of live weight. Ad vance Guard's impost would be heavier than ever, and he would be without the benefit of his accustomed rider. “It's all off,” said Henry. “I wouldn't bet a shoebutton against a million of dollars. Benny laid down his bank roll, but that was before Murray got thrown. Tough luck! I though said the pigeon would come back Murray, | Kid e es the weepin h The hands boy, eav & I | the lady had to go 'way to make her mind, and she took the pigeon long so that in case——Aw. |1 guess such things only har P. t it? go look 'em over.” They were just going | gate when they wer Frenchy Bonville, w tering. Behind him Dream Charley and a score of T: confreres. Frenchy clutched in o a bedra ender feather. Out of the s seen it fall just {past m catherw spread his ned with ma; were H the the nose! nose in in The Information and two minutes maker in th | slate. Down | still the hustlers | slaught- “Advanc Write it again, b his nose! Kid le later eve; sheep. Nobod came from or w but it spread like f The Informs | the mess | at the rail | fraternity. | SeAr dark ¢ | rain clouds that hung above tk i oth but | storm,” g me, I think we fell Frenchy pulled a worki | there ey tention the field that w the post And all the while, high above their heads and screened from view by the wind-blown mantles ¢ on Soldier of Fortune Found Thrills In One Desperate Incident of BY JACK W. DAVIS. HE most thrilling experience I can remember, the one that comes back to me now most vividly, is the time I had dur- ing the Battle of Cambrai, from September 26 to 30, in 1918. Tha was a time I'll never forget—i yS and four nights without sleep or rest, fighting most of the time, and practi- 1 v nothing to eat. It was during ;- 100 hours that I had the closest shaves of my career, t0o0. It began on the morning of the 26th, when our lone Canadian battalion of the 3d Infantry started out to take a railroad embankment the Germans were holding. Being a first-class sig- nal sergeant, I had to carry my roll of wire with me wherever we went, and unroll it carefully, so that our ad- vance line could keep in constant com- munication with headquarters in the rear. The first little episode of the bunch that were to come thick and fast in those five days came in the morning of the 26th, when we had left our trenches and were crawling over the open ground toward the railroad em- bankment. About 10 o'clock in the morning we noticed, on looking back of us, that the Germans had flooded all the ground behind us and had us in their trap. We couldn't go back now, and we soon found we couldn't stay where we were—thousands of “blue cross’’ gas shells began bursting around us on this flat ground, where there was no shelter—so we had to go forward. We worked up slowly and took the embankment at the point of the bayonet at 6 in the evening. But we couldn’t stay there all night without knowing how far the foe had retreated. So Lieut. Shepard and 1 volunteered to go out in front and reconnoiter. o At 6 o'clock in the evening we crawled out and headed into the dark- ness. As we walked cautiously for- ward, stooping low, I unrolled the wire. Suddenly few yards away we heard some Germans talking, and could hear the tramp of their feet. We had passed through their front lines unawares, As I understood the Ger- man language, I was able to tele- graph back to headquarters what they were saying about their plans. But for the present, of course, we just lay low and waited until the enemy, about 200 or 300 of them, had passed. Then we crept on forward, through slashed-up trenches and old shell holes. ‘We had got through three of their lines by 10 o’clock and then the buzzer refused to work-—the wire had been cut somewhere. I had to crawl back through the lines, find the break and fix it, and then come forward again to where Shepard was waiting for me. * %k % % M[DNIGHT passed. It was now my birthday, September 27, and I was 27 years oid. I'll never forget that birthday. There we were, a mile and a half ahead of our lines, in the two a darkness, and not sure whether we could ever get back or not. We were on a ridge, looking down on a stream. where the Germans were busy plac- ing machine guns to receive anybody that wanted to come. But our battalion commander tele- graphed us that the bunch were com- ing up to join us, so we waited. At 5:05 o'clock in the morning the bar- rage started, and in half an hour the battalion was up with Shepard and me. JACK DAVIS, WHO HERE TELLS HIS STORY OF THE MOST THRILLING OF THE MANY BATTLES HE HAS BEEN THROUGH, HAS HAD A LIFETIME OF FIGHT. HE HAS AN EXTRAORDI- NARY FIGHTING RECORD. ridge, crossed the stream and fought our way to the Arras-Cambrai Canal. So ended the third 12-hour period. The mext 12 hours demonstrated how fortunate I was in escaping in- jury at this time. Two companies, one of them mine, were detailed to cross the canal in the night and wipe out a lone machine gun nest that was endangering the whole battalion. We had to creep half a mile down the side of the canal and then float over every one in the two companies—240 in all —one at a time, on rafts improvised from debris and rubbish scattered around. After an hour of this indi- vidual ferrying we were ready and crawled forward. We got within 20 feet of the nest hefore we were noticed. Then somebody gave the alarm and they opened fire. There was nothing to do but rush the po- sition. It took about 20 minutes to wipe out that nest, which had eight guns in it. When we were through and gathered around to go back, we found that there were only 48 out of the original 240 that could return. All the rest were either dead or badly wounded. I was lucky enough to be one of the 48. By this time we were rather ex- hausted, but the mext 12 hours brought more fighting. What was left of our battalion advanced on to a Then. we all moved down the.being shelled with town called Hendrycourt and hid in the cellars there while the town was £as so thoroughly, that we could see the sticky liquid running off the church steeple. Dur- ing this next night—the 28th—I had to dash out 10 or 12 times to re- pair the telegraph wire, which was co 2inually being cut by shell fire. Norning of the 2§th came and with it orders to advance again and take another town which was about a mile beyond us. * X X ¥ TTHEN came my two narrowest es- capes T have ever had. The wire leading back to the town we had left was being smashed all the time by the terrific shell fire, and I had to walk back and forth continually repairing the breaks. By this time I was in such a condition that I never thought of being killed. that T wasn't really there to be hi But the wire job was hopeless; com- munlfcation could not be maintained. 1 could see that the men would go to pieces if we didnt get help from the rear. So T started to run back to the town. Tt is a peculiar feeling to know that a bunch of artillery has picked you out as a special target. I strug- gled through the last of the barbed wire and started my final sprint, run- ning as hard as I could, bent low. Suddenly a shell burst right in be- tween my legs. None of the metal hit me, but the force of the concu: sion of the air threw me forward, flat. 1 was able to get up and go on, but by. the time I rescgubwwn several ' hJ 1 had simply decided | War more charges had burs the repeated concussi made me bleed { ears, mouth and ey That was a narrow es | was due for one still n | first men I came on {a group of 1 | mental parson | “Hello, there,” | But a shel I came to I | The 12 men were son and I were apparer | 1 reached down at my | pistol and felt nothing. I tc and saw that the gun, ho! | had been cut clean aw harming me in the I I reached up to take my steel met off, and jerked my hand aw once. I had touched sor | hot. Gingerly I lifted th and saw that all over the top was plastered about two pou steel shell, hot from the gun smelled a peculiar odor. It ¢ me long to find that singed by the same piece of which had hit my helmet : through it just far enough to t edge of my hair. T had now been for over three davs and four nights without sleep and was feeling rather weary, but th the parson and me from rur ¢ from that place at a good rate speed I found Col. Rogers and told hin what was happening. He took c with reinforcements, and that afte noon we fought our way to another railroad embankment and capi was the evening of At 2 in the morning of the i were relieved, and then 30 miles back of the lines hefore we could rest or sieep. We later f out that the pa had been neces that Gen. Currie, commander of the Canadian forces, had su in taking Cambrai two days ahead o schedule. Our battalion was one of four which made up the 1st F in this battle. Jack Davis, who here telis his story of the most thrilling of the many bat tles he has been through, has had a lifetime of fighting—and not in the prize ring either. Just for the sport of it he sampled all that Mexico had to offer in the stirring days when ‘Villa, Obregon and Zapata were shoot ing on sight. When he heard that a war had broken out in Europe in 1914 he decided that the real thing in fighting was waiting for him wsver there. He deserted the Mexican forces and joined the Canadian Hu & He fought at Mons, through the Battle of the Marne, and under Gen Byng received the D. C. M. He was awarded the V. C. at Ypres in 191 After recuperating at a hospital from wounds, he was given a_ two-month furlough and came to New York While he was here the United States entered the war, so he joined the United States Cavalry without getting a discharge from the British army. But merely drilling recruits at Fort Slocum bored him, so he deserted again and enlisted in the Canadian Mounted Rifles. While with them he went through the battle he here de scribes. When the war was over army life again got tiresome, so he went to study medicine in Germany On his return to the United state he was arrested as a deserter, but hi extraordinary fighting record securel him an honorable discharge,