Clint Adams rode into Louisville, Kentucky, several days before the running of the Kentucky Derby. His friend Ben Canby had a horse he was high on, and had invited Clint to come to the Derby and watch him run—and win.
The town was buzzing as he rode down Main Street. It was his intention to spend the night in town, and then the next morning he’d ride out to Canby’s horse farm to see his friend, and his horse.
Clint reined in his own horse, Eclipse, in front of a hotel with a livery stable next to it. Most towns were not usually as accommodating.
“Staying at the hotel?” the middle-aged liveryman asked.
“I haven’t checked in yet, but yes.”
“Okay,” the man said, “they’ll add the charge for boarding your horse to your bill.”
“How convenient.”
“Come for the Derby?”
“As a matter of fact, yes.”
“I got a tip for you,” the man said.
“Is that a fact?”
“Horse named My Officer. Can’t miss.”
“I’ll keep it in mind.”
Clint took his saddlebags and rifle and entered the hotel.
“You’re lucky,” the clerk said. “Got a few rooms left. By tonight we’ll probably be full.”
“That’s okay,” Clint said. “I’ll only need the room for one night.”
“Very well,” the clerk said. “Room five. Enjoy your stay.” He handed Clint a key. As he turned to go up the stairs, the clerk asked, “Are you here for the Derby?”
“Yes, I am.”
The young man leaned his elbows on the desk and said, “I got a tip for you.”
“Is that so?”
The man nodded. “A horse named Little Drama. Can’t miss.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
Clint went up to his room.
He took the time to wash the trail off his hands, face, and chest, then changed into a fresh shirt and went out to find a place for his supper.
* * *
The town was alive with activity, most of which—from the scraps of conversation he could catch—had to do with the Kentucky Derby. Apparently, owners and trainers from all over the country were coming to town for the race, to challenge the locals.
At a small café he found down the street, Clint had a mediocre steak and weak coffee, but managed to get still another tip from the waiter—this time a horse named Be Brave. “Can’t miss,” the man assured him. So that was three “can’t miss” tips he’d gotten since arriving in town just an hour before.
He didn’t know the name of Ben Canby’s horse. He wondered if it was any of the three he’d gotten the tips on.
After supper he crossed the street to a casino called the Crazy Bull. Inside there was a painting of a bull hanging over the bar, but someone had fiddled with the eyes, making them look appropriately “crazy.”
“Beer,” he told the bartender.
The casino had gambling, girls, and music, and they were all making noise. Just next to him two cowboys were arguing over the abilities of two horses, one called Awesome Gem and the other Fast Frankie. According to each man, the horse he was touting “couldn’t miss.” Eventually, they came to blows over the subject. Clint picked up his beer and moved away from the action, leaving it to the bartender to take care of.
Carrying his beer with him, he walked around the spacious interior of the casino. He paused to watch a poker game, a blackjack table, a faro table, a roulette wheel, and a craps table. There was no room for him at any of them, so he simply spent a few moments watching the action, and then moved on.
By the time he got back to the bar, the two arguing cowboys were gone.
“What happened to your friends?” he asked the bartender.
“I convinced them to leave,” the brawny man said. “You want another?”
“Sure,” Clint said, “one more can’t hurt. Might even help me sleep.”
Actually, he doubted he was going to have any trouble sleeping. He was pretty tired from the time he’d spent on the trail getting there.
“There ya go,” the man said, setting a second beer in front of him.
“You here for the Derby?” the man asked.
“Yes, why?” Clint asked. “You got a tip for me?”
“Hell, no,” the bartender said. “What do I know about racehorses?”