Without a saddle he betrayed his high, thin withers, the sway in his back, his high hip bones.

His front legs were flat, with long, stringy-looking muscles under his unkempt buckskin hide.

Even the women laughed at Sunfish.
Beside them two men rode, the starter and another to see that the start was fair.

So they receded down the flat, yellow course and dwindled to mere miniature figures against the sand, so that one could not tell one horse from another.
The crowd bunched, still laughing at how the singin' kid was going to feel when he rode again to meet them.

It would cure him of racing, they said.