It may spread, too, when infected and healthy horses are fed and watered from the same buckets or are in any way placed in intimate contact with one another.”

The State Veterinarian paused again for a moment, his gaze dropping to the table, then returning to the men who listened to him in sober silence.

“Your horses have all been exposed to this disease,” he continued very gravely. “Even now they may have it, for the incubation period of swamp fever is generally from seven to twenty-eight days, during which time there are no obvious characteristic symptoms. The symptoms, when they do appear, are a fever of one hundred five or as high as one hundred eight degrees Fahrenheit; dejection, usually with low-hanging head; a shifting of weight from one leg to another; breathing more quickly, sometimes with abdomen; swelling of legs and loss of weight.

“Your horses, gentlemen, are now under a forty-day quarantine, the approximate time necessary for us to determine whether or not they are infected. It is regrettable, but this is the only possible action the state can take to prevent this fatal disease from spreading. The directors of the track have had no alternative but to cancel the International Cup race, and we’re asking you gentlemen to take your horses to a state farm a short distance away, where screening tests will be made to ascertain whether or not any horse has contracted swamp fever from El Dorado. We cannot force you to move your horses to the farm or to take the tests, but I must remind you, gentlemen, that in all fairness to the hundreds of horses due to arrive shortly at this track for the regular meeting, you owe it to them and to the sport in general to remove your horses to the farm, so that there will be no opportunity for this disease to spread any further.”

The State Veterinarian paused for a long while, then said, “Gentlemen, I would like a show of hands of those who will consent to move their horses to the farm.”

Despondently all the men raised their hands. No questions were asked. No word was spoken. The cancellation of the race to which they had looked forward for so many months was of no importance now to any one of them. Instead, each was haunted by the fear that his horse might be stricken … that before long he, too, would have to consent to the destruction of his horse. They were the trainers of the world’s finest horses … horses that in the years to come were to have passed on their speed to their get for the improvement of the breed. Now, they were to be exiled.

The State Veterinarian was speaking again, and the men raised their eyes to his. “Your horses can have swamp fever without showing the characteristic symptoms,” he said. “The only definite way we have of finding out is to take blood samples from your horses and, pooling this blood, inoculate it into the bloodstream of a horse who has not been exposed to the disease. If no evidence of the disease appears in the inoculated test horse, your horses will be given a clean bill of health and released. However, if swamp fever develops in the test horse, each of your horses must be tested individually to find out which one or more has the disease.”

The State Veterinarian cleared his throat. “I know the difficult time that is ahead of you, gentlemen. We appreciate the full cooperation you have promised us. We hope, as you do, that none of your horses will be found to have swamp fever and that clean bills of health will be given to all. We request that you have your horses ready to leave the track by noon. All horses will travel individually, and we’ll have vans for those of you who don’t have any here.”

They filed out as quietly as they had entered the office while behind them the press gathered around the Race Secretary and the State Veterinarian.

Outside the building Alec and Henry walked slowly, neither saying a word for a long while.

“We’d better call your father,” Henry said finally. “He ought to hear about it from us instead of the newspapers.”

“It’s all over, isn’t it, Henry?” Alec asked. “Everything we’d planned.”

“Don’t be silly, Alec,” Henry said a little angrily. “Maybe none of the horses have it … just like the doc said. We have to make sure, that’s all. El Dorado couldn’t have had swamp fever very long, and the chances are good that it never had a chance to spread. There isn’t a stable in the row which hasn’t been sprayed daily with DDT, as we’ve been doin’. I’ve hardly seen a fly around here, much less a mosquito. An’ don’t forget none of us ever used any of El Dorado’s stable equipment,” he added assuredly. “We all minded our own business and that’s what counts right now … no contact with El Dorado.”

“There’s just one thing,” Alec began slowly, then stopped.

“What thing?” Henry asked.

“The day after El Dorado arrived … it was when you went to pick up Satan at the airport.”

“Yeah,” Henry said impatiently, then hesitated.