Evening star., 1925-07-19

track coming to? Amt i
got any rights? Who stabbed
that combination next to me?
ing hand.
Nov, listen. Benny That's. Miss
Brown; that's Dusty's sister, you see,
and"
Don't care who she is! My horses
don't like pigeons, and 1 don't like
women. Get her off the hill or III
ship to Canada. That's final!'
Benny Benson stamped wrathfully
out the door.
The Winter meeting at Tia Juana
was only three days old, but it was
quite within the natural order of
things that trouble should have al
ready developed among the quaint
characters who eked out a precariouS
existence on Frying Pan Hill. There
was always trouble in that section, for
it was Tia Juana's Poverty Row, the
haven of equine dereliCts and frying
pan trainers" so named because a
halter, a lantern and frying pan con-
stttuted their equipment.
The frying pan was essential, the
unmistakable emblem of the frater-
nity-a sort of culinary catch-a by
virtue of which squirrels, brush rab-
bits and even the domesticated mas
cots of opposing stables We're made to
disappear with celebrity never sur
passed by Houdini or Hermann the
Great.
Frying Pan Hill was region where
anything might happen, and usually
did. Arguments were endless and
trfbulations unceasing. But hopes ran
high. though the horses ran 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 the
latest disturbance on Frying Pan Hill.
, This was the first time he had ever
heard of a woman trainer. No Won
der old man Benson was grouchyi
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 the sur
priSing news.
kid" he reported, she's up there
all right, Seen the lady myself Two
horses and five pigeons. She's all
checked with a bucket and a sponge
and rubbing cloths. She bandages 'em
herself, and rubs EN-, and
'Rubs the pigeons?"
mo. no-the beetlesi Dusty Browns 5
horses-two of 'em. He died this Win
ter with the con. Gassed in France
Shes his sister. Gonna try and square
his debts. Fat chance, The sheriff'll
attach the horses, and them gyps on
the hill will have pigeon potpie"
Nags any good, Henry?"
well. Miss Brown likes 'em. and
maybe the coroner might lay a dollar
IN the line, but those mules will
Hever run for my dough- I'll play the
pigeons if I get chance; there's the
class of this track. Boy, you ought to
see them pigeons do their stuff, Talk
about Man o War Miss Browns got
little go-getter-gray bird with blue
narkings-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-
Ill that little pigeon hooked up with
him on the back stretch. They was on
even terms for a furiong, and then the
pigeon cut loose at the three.quarter.
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 Browns pigeon went by the mile
pole in one-o-nothin', Looked like the
horse was backin' up"
X = x x
THE Information Kid was visibly
impressed, seeing which Henry
proceeded further to enlighten his lord
of life.
Boy you've been oVerlookin' some
thing. Them pigeons are your dishl
There's story in EN-. They're Bel
Vlan thoroughbreds with war records.
The little pigeon I was tellin' YOU
about was decorated by Pershing him
self. Frenchy Bonville knows the
story. He was with Dusty in France.
There was a detachment being cut up
by machinegun fire, and they couldn't
Use airplanes or radio. They cut loose
this pigeon with a message to head
quarters, 20 miles away. It covered
the distance in exactly 25 minutes and
got there with blood on it's breast and
foot shot away, Amt that one for
the book?"
The Information Kid let out veil.
Ills gray eyes glittered like electric
stars.
Ats the kind of stuff 1 love,
what's the name of the bird?"
Helen of Troy" said Henry. and
added. thoughtfully: Must be a filly
pigeon"
The Information Kid had heard
enough to arouse his curiosity. He re-
membered Dusty Brown, a taciturn
and lanky TeXan-pretty decent sort
of fellow who always seemed TO be
running in hard luck. Dusty had
served overseas with the Signal Corps.
and returned with spots on his lungs
that not even desert air could heal
Now his sister was trying TO carry on
with two horses and five pigeons.
Outside the last box stall on the
left as YOU go up the final avenue the
KID came across the object of his
search Miss Brown was vigorously
sponging off a bay mare with mean
eyes and Il waspish frame. Dusty's
sister was a. sort of stage type of spin
ster-prim, angular, forbidding, with
gray hair combed severely back from
stern features and challenging black
eyes. At his approach she looked up,
lips set ominously and her figure tense.
Morning, Miss Brown" he smiled.
Sorry I 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 EN- any better-regular
fellow, salt of the earth Understand
you'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 moment Miss Browns express
sion did not change. She continued to
glare at him. Just as the tension ap-
preached the swapping point Dusty's
sister tossed the sponge into a bucket.
She dried her hands and pointed to-
ward the open door of a four -by-six