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The Key to Yesterday

The Key to Yesterday

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The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Key to Yesterday, by Charles Neville Buck

Title: The Key to Yesterday

Author: Charles Neville Buck

Release Date: September 19, 2010 [eBook #33759]

Language: English

Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1

***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE KEY TO YESTERDAY***

 

E-text prepared by David Garcia, Roger Frank, Sam W.,
and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team
(http://www.pgdp.net)
from page images generously made available by
Kentuckiana Digital Library
(http://kdl.kyvl.org/)

 

Note: Images of the original pages are available through Kentuckiana Digital Library. See http://kdl.kyvl.org/cgi/t/text/text-idx?c=kyetexts;cc=kyetexts;view=toc;idno=b92-178-30418568

 


 

The Key to Yesterday

CHARLES NEVILLE BUCK

 

NEW YORK
GROSSET & DUNLAP
PUBLISHERS

Copyright, 1910, by
W. J. WATT & COMPANY


Saxon and Duska standing close together, the portrait of her behind them

CONTENTS

CHAPTER I 1
CHAPTER II 22
CHAPTER III 37
CHAPTER IV 55
CHAPTER V 70
CHAPTER VI 88
CHAPTER VII 102
CHAPTER VIII 119
CHAPTER IX 134
CHAPTER X 156
CHAPTER XI 172
CHAPTER XII 186
CHAPTER XIII 207
CHAPTER XIV 221
CHAPTER XV 238
CHAPTER XVI 255
CHAPTER XVII 270
CHAPTER XVIII 285
CHAPTER XIX 304
CHAPTER XX 315
CHAPTER XXI 333

The Key to Yesterday

CHAPTER I

The palings of the grandstand inclosure creaked in protest under the pressure. The shadows of forward-surging men wavered far out across the track. A smother of ondriving dust broke, hurricane-like, around the last turn, sweeping before it into the straightaway a struggling mass of horse-flesh and a confusion of stable-colors. Back to the right, the grandstand came to its feet, bellowing in a madman’s chorus.

Out of the forefront of the struggle strained a blood-bay colt. The boy, crouched over the shoulders, was riding with hand and heel to the last ounce of his strength and the last subtle feather-weight of his craft and skill. At his saddleskirts pressed a pair of distended nostrils and a black, foam-flecked muzzle. Behind, with a gap of track and daylight between, trailed the laboring “ruck.”

A tall stranger, who had lost his companion and host in the maelstrom of the betting shed, had taken his stand near the angle where the paddock grating meets the track fence. A Derby crowd at Churchill Downs is a congestion of humanity, and in the obvious impossibility of finding his friend he could here at least give his friend the opportunity of finding him, since at this point were a few panels of fence almost clear. As the two colts fought out the final decisive furlongs, the black nose stealing inch by inch along the bay neck, the stranger’s face wore an interest not altogether that of the casual

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