After Dr. Rathbone had left Mike and Carter went down to the stables.

“I'll jest have a look at that broke rein,” said Gaynor; “that sthrap was strong enough to hang Diablo. If there's not some dirty business in this, I'll eat me hat. T'umbs up! but it was a gallop, though. The Black kin move whin he wants to.”

“But what do you think of old Lauzanne?” exclaimed Carter. “He just wore Diablo down, hung to him like a bulldog, an' beat him out.”

“It was the girl's ridin'; an' Lauzanne was feared, too. He's chicken-hearted; that's what he is. Some day in a race he'll get away in front av his horses, an' beat 'em by the length av a street. He'll be a hun'red to wan, an' nobody'll have a penny on.”

When they arrived at the stable Mike headed straight for the harness room. The light was dim, coming from a small, high, two-paned window; but Mike knew where every bridle and saddle should be. He put his hand on Diablo's headgear, and bringing it down carried it through the passage to a stable door where he examined it minutely.

“Jest what I tought. Look at that,” and he handed it to Carter for inspection. “How do ye size that up, Ned?”

“The rein's been cut near through,” replied Carter. “I wonder it held as long as it did.”

“A dirty, low-down trick,” commented Mike. “I'll hang it back on the peg just now, but don't use it again fer a bit.”

As he reentered the saddle room briskly his heel slipped on the plank floor, bringing him down. “I'd take me oath that was a banana peel, if it was on the sidewalk,” he exclaimed, after a gymnastic twist that nearly dislocated his neck. “Some of ye fellows is pretty careless wit' hoof grease, I'm thinkin'.”

More out of curiosity than anything else he peered down at the cause of his sudden slip. “What the divil is it, onyway?” he muttered, kneeling and lighting a match, which he held close to the spot. “Bot' t'umbs!” he exclaimed, “it's candle grease. Have aither of ye b'ys been in here wit' a candle? It's agin the rules.”

“There isn't a candle about the barn, an' you know it, Mike,” cried Carter, indignantly.

Mike was prospecting the floor with another light.

“Here's two burnt matches,” he continued, picking them up. “An' they were loighted last night, too. See that, they're long, an' that means that they wasn't used for lightin' a pipe or a cigar—jes' fer touchin' off a candle, that's all. I know they was loighted last night,” he said, as though to convince himself, “fer they're fresh, an' ain't been tramped on. If they'd been here fer two or three days, roight in front of the door, they'd have the black knocked off 'em wid ye boys' feet. This wan didn't light at all hardly, an' there's a little wool fuzz stickin' to it. Gee! that manes some wan sthruck it on his wool pants. Git the lantern, Ned, p'raps we'll fin' out somethin' more. The light from that high up winder ain't good enough fer trackin' a bear.”

When the lantern was brought, Mike continued his detective operations, nose and eyes close to the floor, like a black tracker.

“What's that, Ned?” he asked, pointing his finger at a dark brown spot on the boards.

Carter crouched and scrutinized Mike's find. “Tobacco spit,” and he gave a little laugh.

“Roight you are; that's what it is. Now who chaws tobaccie in this stable?” he demanded of Carter, with the air of a cross-examining counsel.

“I don't.”

“Does Finn?”

“No; I don't think so.”

“Didn't Shandy always have a gob of it in his cheek—the dirty pig?”

“Yes, he did, Mike.”

“I t'ought so; I t'ought it was that blackguard. But how did the swine get in here? The stable was locked, an' I had the key in me pocket. I'll take me oath to that.”

Carter took his cap off, ran a hand reflectively up and down the crown of his head, canvassing every possible entry there might be to the stalls. Suddenly he replaced his cap and whistled softly. “I know, Mike; he crawled through the dung window. I've seen him do it half a dozen times. When he was too lazy to go for the keys, he'd wiggle through that hole.”

Mike said nothing, but led the way to the back of the stable. There he climbed upon the pile of rotting straw, and examined closely the small, square opening, with its board slide, through which Shandy had passed the night before.

“God! I t'ought so!” he ejaculated. “Here's more tobacco spit, where the cutt'roat divil stood when he opened the winder.”

Looking down, his eye caught the glint of something bright deep in the straw. He dug his hand down into the mass and brought up a knife. “Whose is that, Ned?” he queried.

Carter looked at it closely. “Shandy's,” he answered; “I'll swear to that. I've borrowed it from him more than once to clean out the horses' hoofs.”

“Bot' t'umbs up! I'd hang that b'y to a beam if I had him here. He cut that rein as sure as God made little apples,” declared Mike, vehemently. “An' the gall av him to go an' sit there in the ould stand to watch the Black run away wit' somewan an' kill 'em. Now jest kape yer mouth shut, Ned, an' we'll put a halter on this rooster. By hivins! when I git him I'll make him squale, too!”