12 Sports Aces, May 1943 — page 70: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

68 | 12 SPORTS ACES Jackie groaned, Hely cow! The barns! The horses! Bad Boy! Tip Murray was at the scene of the blaze. Hatless, pale, distraught, looking at the ruined wreckage of his hopes. Gut- tering firelight played in jumping colors on his pudgy, waxen face. “You—” Tip rasped when he saw Jackie. Fears put hysteria in his voice. “Jackie, where’ve you aoe 2?” He clutched Jackie’s sheulder. - Jackie’s ktquor-stupered = did not respond. “Mr, Murray, I~” Tip’s stricken face suddeniy showed he was aware of Jaekie’s liquered breath. “Drunk! Why you—you ran out! When your jeb was here! That’s why the place burned dowg, Drunk!’ Tip’s fist cuacked out. Jackie staggered - back. “Mr. Murray,” Jackie began. “Let me explain. I—” “You’re going to explafn?” Tip shout- ed in anguish. “This fire’s put Hollie in the hospital, And where were you? For your part the horses couli have burned.” Tip advanced on Jackie, his fists clenched, held wide. “They warned me not to hire you. They said you were no good. Now I see why. Get out! Get off this place before I kill you!” Jaekie turned, stumbled away. Tip, he knew, never got his note. ins note burned in the blace. Jaekie stumbled on. He spent the night - on a bench near the racetrack. The next morning, in a sleepy, bewildered daze, he read in the papers the details about the fire. Bad Bog and two other horses had been saved by Tip’s tratner and former jockey, Hollie Hollister. The barns, to- tally destreyed, were not covered by in- surance, nor was a great supply of hay and feed valued at several thousand dol- lars. The financial loss of the fire, com- ing on top of the $100,000 fizzle of Bad Boy, hit hard at the erstwhile top-rank- ing star. Jackie was still near the track later in the day when he saw a horse transfer truck pull up. He saw Bad Boy unleaded. The later editions that day carried the story that Bad Boy was a definite entry for Saturday’s $40,000 Witdmere Stakes. Jackie shrugged, It was no lenger his race, Bad Boy was no longer his horse. But he had felt the power of the big red under him. He had hand-fed him, seen his volatile spirit ealmed a notch. He wondered who would ride him now, take him to the post for Tip. The Boy had horse tricks all his own, needed a jockey who understeod him. A small owner like Tip Murray didn‘*t have his pick ef ridera in a stake race. Jackie counted his money. He got 4 room. He figured up his pennies. So much for the landlady. Se much for beans. So mitch for a ticket to see Bad Boy im the Wildmere. ‘Phen, on race-day morning, Jackie saw in the paper: Tip Murray, it is reported to this column, has seraped tegether every last cent he has in this or any other world for an all-out plunge on Bad Boy in the Wildmere today. Our best to the fading Tip, but we had hoped his common sense was better than his horse sense. To every knowing raitbird, it looks like Tip, good old Tip, gets left at the post again. Jackie went out to the track. He stopped, first, at Tip’s house in town, He phone wires to the house. That would fit sneaked around the back and clipped the in with what he was to do later. Jackie worked his way through the crowd and down to the jockey house. The secend race was on. Boys were dressing. Jackie spotted the boy with the flame- colored Murray silks. “You riding for Tip Murray?” he asked. The ciean-washed boyish face nodded. “Well, Mr. Murray wants to see you right away. Come on.” Jackie took him out te the stable area, led him to an empty stall. He beckoned him inside, elosed the door. Ten minutes later, Hoilie Hollister'’s eyes widened when he saw Jackie appear, dressed in Murray silks. Holly had ban- dages on his head and one anm. He was busy with gear near a stall that had Bad Boy’s name on a broad-strip above its doer. Jackie said evenly, “I’m riding Bad Boy. Tip gave me the’ assignment.” EComichbooks (<0)