The horse was to ride in the race before the last. Somehow out of odds
and ends, his owner scraped together a suit and colors for Patsy. The
colors were maroon and green, a curious combination. But then it was a
curious horse, a curious rider, and a more curious combination that
brought the two together.

Long before the time for the race Patsy went into the stall to become
better acquainted with his horse. The animal turned its wild eyes upon
him and neighed. He patted the long, slender head, and grinned as the
horse stepped aside as gently as a lady.

"He sholy is full o' ginger," he said to the owner, whose name he had
found to be Brackett.

"He'll show 'em a thing or two," laughed Brackett.

"His dam was a fast one," said Patsy, unconsciously.

Brackett whirled on him in a flash. "What do you know about his dam?"
he asked.

The boy would have retracted, but it was too late. Stammeringly he
told the story of his father's death and the horse's connection
therewith.

"Well," said Brackett, "if you don't turn out a hoodoo, you're a
winner, sure. But I'll be blessed if this don't sound like a story!
But I've heard that story before. The man I got Black Boy from, no
matter how I got him, you're too young to understand the ins and outs
of poker, told it to me."