CHAPTER II
SPORTING CHANCE
It might easily have been made melodramatic by any hesitation as heapproached, but, with a businesslike directness, he went right up to themen who held the fighting horse.
He said: "Put a saddle on him, boys, and I'll try my hand."
They could not answer at once, for Werther's "pet," as if he recognizedthe newcomer, made a sudden lunge and was brought to a stop only afterhe had dragged his sweating handlers around and around in a smallcircle. Here Werther himself came running up, puffing with surprise.
"Son," he said eagerly, "I'm not aiming to do you no harm. I was onlycalling the bluff of those four-flushers."
The slender youth finished rolling up his left sleeve and smiled down atthe other.
"Put on the saddle," he said.
Werther looked at him anxiously; then his eyes brightened with asolution. He stepped closer and laid a hand on the other's arm.
"Son, if you're broke and want to get the price of a few squares justsay the word and I'll fix you. I been busted myself in my own day, butdon't try your hand with my hoss. He ain't just a buckin' hoss; he's aman-killer, lad. I'm tellin' you straight. And this floor ain't so softas the sawdust makes it look," he ended with a grin.
The younger man considered the animal seriously.
"I'm not broke; I've simply taken a fancy to your horse. If you don'tmind, I'd like to try him out. Seems too bad, in a way, for a brute likethat to put it over on ten thousand people without getting a run for hismoney--a sporting chance, eh?"
And he laughed with great good nature.
"What's your name?" asked Werther, his small eyes growing round andwide.
"Anthony Woodbury."
"Mine's Werther."
They shook hands.
"City raised?"
"Yes."
"Didn't know they came in this style east of the Rockies, Woodbury. Ihope I lose my thousand, but if there was any betting I'd stake ten toone against you."
In the meantime, some of the range-riders had thrown a coat over thehead of the stallion, and while he stood quivering with helpless ragethey flung a saddle on and drew the cinches taut.
Anthony Woodbury was saying with a smile: "Just for the sake of thegame, I'll take you on for a few hundred, Mr. Werther, if you wish, butI can't accept odds."
Werther ran a finger under his collar apparently to facilitatebreathing. His eyes, roving wildly, wandered over the white, silent massof faces, and his glance picked out and lingered for a moment on thebig-shouldered figure of Drew, erect in his box. At last his glance cameback with an intent frown to Woodbury. Something in the keen eyes of thelad raised a responsive flicker in his own.
"Well, I'll be damned! Just a game, eh? Lad, no matter on what side ofthe Rockies you were born, I know your breed and I won't lay a pennyagainst your money. There's the hoss saddled and there's the flooryou'll land on. Go to it--and God help you!"
The other shook his shoulders back and stepped toward the horse with apeculiarly unpleasant smile, like a pugilist coming out of his cornertoward an opponent of unknown prowess.
He said: "Take off the halter."
One of the men snapped viciously over his shoulder: "Climb on while theclimbing's good. Cut out the bluff, partner."
The smile went out on the lips of Woodbury. He repeated: "Take off thehalter."
They stared at him, but quickly began to fumble under the coat,unfastening the buckle. It required a moment to work off the heavyhalter without giving the blinded animal a glimpse of the light; thenWoodbury caught the bridle reins firmly just beneath the chin of thehorse. With the other hand he took the stirrup strap and raised hisfoot, but he seemed to change his mind about this matter.
"Take off the blinder," he ordered.
It was Werther who interposed this time with: "Look here, lad, I knowthis hoss. The minute the blinder's off he'll up on his hind legs andbash you into the floor with his forefeet."
"Let him go," growled one of the cowboys. "He's goin' to hell making agallery play."
But taking the matter into his own hands Woodbury snatched the coat fromthe head of the stallion, which snorted and reared up, mouth agape earsflattened back. There was a shout from the man, not a cry of dismay, buta ringing battle yell like some ancient berserker seeing the first flashof swords in the melee. He leaped forward, jerking down on the bridlereins with all the force of his weight and his spring. The horse, caughtin mid-air, as it were, came floundering down on all fours again. Beforehe could make another move, Woodbury caught the high horn of the saddleand vaulted up to his seat. It was gallantly done and in response came agreat rustling from the multitude; there was not a spoken word, butevery man was on his feet.
Perhaps what followed took their breaths and kept them speechless. Thefirst touch of his rider's weight sent the stallion mad, not blind withfear as most horses go, but raging with a devilish cunning like that ofan insane man, a thing that made the blood run cold to watch. He stood amoment shuddering, as if the strange truth were slowly dawning on hisbrute mind; then he bolted straight for the barriers. Woodbury bracedhimself and lunged back on the reins, but he might as well have tuggedat the mooring cable of a great ship; the bit was in the monster'steeth.
Then a whisper reached the rider, a universal hushing of drawn breath,for the thousands were tasting the first thrill and terror of thecombat. They saw a picture of horse and man crushed against the barrier.But there was no such stupid rage in the mind of the stallion.
At the last moment he swerved and raced close beside the fence; someprojecting edge caught the trousers of Woodbury and ripped away thestout cloth from hip to heel. He swung far to the other side andwrenched back the reins. With stiff-braced legs the stallion slid to ahalt that flung his unbalanced rider forward along his neck. Before hecould straighten himself in the saddle, the horse roared and came downon rigid forelegs, yet by a miracle Woodbury clung, sprawled down theside of the monster, to be sure, but was not quite dismounted.
Another pitch of the same nature would have freed the stallion from hisrider beyond doubt, but he elected to gallop full speed ahead the lengthof the arena, and during that time, Woodbury, stunned though he was,managed to drag himself back into the saddle. The end of the race was aleap into the air that would have cleared a five-bar fence, and downpitched the fighting horse on braced legs again. Woodbury's chin snappeddown against his breast as though he had been struck behind the headwith a heavy bar, but though his brain was stunned, the fightinginstinct remained strong in him and when the stallion reared and toppledback the rider slipped from the saddle in the nick of time.
Fourteen hundred pounds of raging horseflesh crashed into the sawdust;he rolled like a cat to his feet, but at the same instant a flyingweight leaped through the air and landed in the saddle. The audienceawoke to sound--to a dull roar of noise; a thin trickle of blood ranfrom Woodbury's mouth and it seemed that the mob knew it and was yellingfor a death.
There followed a bewildering exhibition of such bucking that thedisgruntled cowboys forgot their shame and shouted with joy. Upon hishind legs and then down on his forefeet with a sickening heartbreakingjar the stallion rocked; now he bucked from side to side; now rose andwhirled about like a dancer; now toppled to the ground and twisted againto his feet.
Still the rider clung. His head rocked with the ceaseless jars; thered-stained lips writhed back and showed the locked teeth. Yet, as if hescorned the struggles of the stallion, he brought into play the heavyquirt which had been handed him as he mounted. Over neck and shouldersand tender flanks he whirled the lash; it was not intelligence fightingbrute strength, but one animal conquering another and rejoicing in thebattle.
The horse responded, furiously he responded, but still the lash fell,and the bucking grew more cunning, perhaps, but less violent. Yet to thewildly cheering audience the fight seemed more dubious than ever. Then,in the very centre of the arena, the stallion stopped in the midst of atwisting course of bucking and stood with widely b
raced legs and fallenhead. Strength was left in him, but the cunning, savage mind knewdefeat.
Once more the quirt whirled in the air and fell with a resounding crack,but the stallion merely switched his tail and started forward at aclumsy stumbling trot. The thunder of the host was too hoarse forapplause; they saw a victory and a defeat but what they had wanted wasblood, and a death. They had had a promise and a taste; now theyhungered for the reality.
Woodbury slipped from the saddle and gave the reins to Werther. Alreadya crowd was growing about them of the curious who had sprung over thebarriers and swarmed across the arena to see the conqueror, for had henot vindicated unanswerably the strength of the East as compared withthat of the West? Boys shouted shrilly; men shouldered each other toslap him on the back; but Werther merely held forth the handful ofgreenbacks. The conqueror braced himself against the saddle with atrembling hand and shook his head.
"Not for me," he said, "I ought to pay you--ten times that much for thesport--compared to this polo is nothing."
"Ah," muttered those who overheard, "polo! That explains it!"
"Then take the horse," said Werther, "because no one else could ridehim."
"And now any one can ride him, so I don't want him," answered Woodbury.
And Werther grinned. "You're right, boy. I'll give him to the iceman."
The big grey man, William Drew, loomed over the heads of the littlecrowd, and they gave way before him as water divides under the prow of aship; it was as if he cast a shadow which they feared before him.
"Help me through this mob," said Woodbury to Werther, "and back to mybox. Devil take it, my overcoat won't cover that leg."
Then on him also fell, as it seemed, the approaching shadow of the greyman and he looked up with something of a start into the keen eyes ofDrew.
"Son," said the big man, "you look sort of familiar to me. I'm askingyour pardon, but who was your mother?"
The eyes of young Woodbury narrowed and the two stood considering eachother gravely for a long moment.
"I never saw her," he said at last, and then turned with a frown to workhis way through the crowd and back to his box.
The tall man hesitated a moment and then started in pursuit, but the mobintervened. He turned back to Werther.
"Did you get his name?" he asked.
"Fine bit of riding he showed, eh?" cried the little man, "and turneddown my thousand as cool as you please. I tell you, Drew, there's someflint in the Easterners after all!"
"Damn the Easterners. What's his name?"
"Woodbury. Anthony Woodbury."
"Woodbury?"
"What's wrong with that name?"
"Nothing. Only I'm a bit surprised."
And he frowned with a puzzled, wistful expression, staring straightahead like a man striving to solve a great riddle.