Flash, flash, those shadowy hoofs; thud, thud, upon the plain; the buckskin's neck forged slowly on, now lapped the red-gold shoulder of his foe. The redskin shrieked, the riding mob behind gave voice and rode like madmen. The racers plunged and plunged, the riders lay down almost to their necks, plying their quirts and shouting words of urge.
The buckskin still won inches on the race, but the Rover led. The last, the final furlong was at hand. The riders yelled, the rabble yelled, guns were fired in mad excitement, and all restraint was gone. It was win—win—burst—die—but win! And never jockeys harder rode and never horses better ran; the test was fair. Red Rover did his best, yet his rival's legs in that last spurt moved as a rabbit's legs, a maze of shadowy pounding limbs, and—sickening sight—the buckskin with the copper rider forged still more ahead—a neck, half a length ahead—and the race was won.
* * *
Peaches was in tears. "Colonel," he said, in a broken voice, "it was that twenty-five pound handicap did it; it wasn't fair."
The Colonel growled something about "a lot of fools to let up on the training after that Yellowbank trial."
Hartigan was standing near; gloomy, but not so gloomy as the rest; and when there came a chance to be heard, he said: "Colonel, once I see a horse close to, in fair daylight, I can always remember him afterward. I've been looking over their buckskin cayuse, and it's not the same one we raced in the Yellowbank."
The Colonel turned quickly around. "Are you sure?"
"Absolutely certain," was the answer.
"My goodness—you are right. I distrusted the whole business from the start. You are right; they fooled us on a stool-pigeon; this whole thing was a put-up job. The simple Red man!"
* * *
The "perchers" were gathered at the blacksmith shop next afternoon. "Well," said Shives, "I've done fifteen dollars' worth of work to-day and haven't taken in a cent." The audience grunted and he went on. "Every tap of it was for broken-down bums trying to get out of town—skinned by the simple Red man. Horses shod, tires set, bolts fixed, all kinds of cripplements. All they want is help to get out, get out; at any price get out. Well, it'll do you good, the whole caboodle of ye. Ye started out to do, and got done—everlastingly soaked." The blacksmith chuckled. "Serve you all right. I'm glad ye got it."
As Hartigan appeared, swinging a big stick and singing "The Wearing of the Green," Shives asked: "Well, Jim, how much did you lose?"
"Nothing," sang Hartigan cheerfully; "I don't bet"; and he went on singing, "'Tis the most distressful country this that ever yet was seen."
"Lucky dog! All the sports round this neck o' the woods are ruined. They say no gentleman will bet on a sure thing. H'm, maybe not. Well, fellows, cheer up; no man ever yet was made, until he had been ruined a couple of times; and all I hope is that the Reds will get up another race and soak ye to the limit. Then maybe some o' ye will brace up and be men; but I dunno."
"Guess they've soaked us to the limit now," was the general voice of those assembled.
Poor Higginbotham had gone in rather strong for him, in spite of his wife, and there was no blue sky in his world, or prospect of it.
Then they turned on Hartigan, who was going through the movements of singlestick, on the open floor. "Was he white, or wasn't he? How could he stand by and see the whole settlement skinned alive by Red Injins when he had the game in his own hands? Why didn't he enter Blazing Star? He didn't seem to take much interest in the affair, probably he wanted the Red skins to win." The jibe stung Jim to the quick; he ceased his exuberant exercise; the song died on his lips, and he strode away in silence.
* * *
CHAPTER XXIX
The Riders
It is the continual boast of the cowboys that they are the best riders on earth. It is the continual boast also of Cossack, Boer, Australian, Gaucho, and all who live on and by the horse. And when we sift the claim of each of those named we find that it is founded wholly on this, that they can sit on the back of any steed, however wild, and defy all its efforts to dislodge them. All their standards are designed to show the power of the man to overpower the horse. But there is one very large consideration that seems not to enter their consciousness at all, and that is how to get the best out of the horse—to develop and utilize, not crush its power. We undoubtedly find this idea best established in the riding schools of Europe. In these grammar schools violence is forbidden, almost unknown. For a man to fight with his horse would be a disgrace; to abuse or over-ride him—a shame; to lade him with a three-pound bit and a thirty-pound saddle—a confession of inability to control or stay on. In every part of the world where the horse has been developed, it has been in exact ratio with the creed of the riding schools. No one that has seen both classes of riders can have a doubt that the best horsemen in the world are those of Europe, who control the horse with skill—not brute force. The cowboys are mere broncho-busters.
Hartigan had gathered not a little of true horse learning in his early days, and he was disgusted now to see how lightly and cheaply the westerner held his horse. "Break him down and get another" was the method in vogue; and the test of a rider was, "Can he ride a horse to death?" The thirty-pound saddle used was an evidence of the intent and a guarantee of the result. As soon as he could afford it, Jim sent back to Chicago for an English pad, the kind he was used to, and thus he cut his riding weight down by nearly twenty pounds. Then there arrived at Fort Ryan a travelling inspector, who spent a month teaching the men the latest ideas in the care of horses. Among the tricks was the "flat ambush." This is how it is done: With reins in the left hand, and that hand in the mane at the withers, you stand at the nigh shoulder; lift the nigh front foot in your right hand till the hoof is near the horse's elbow; pull the horse toward you with the left hand in the mane; talk gently; pull, and press. If your horse trusts you, he will gradually bend over toward you; lower his body to the ground; and at last lie flat, head and all, with the animal's legs away from you. Behind the horse's body the rifleman may squat, shoot from cover, and have an ample breastwork if the animal is trained to "stand the gun." It is a pretty trick, though of less practical use than was expected. It is, however, a quick measure of the horse's confidence in the rider; and it speaks well for the 99th Cavalry that more than half the horses learned it in a week. This was a new game to Hartigan, and he found a fresh joy in it as an excuse for fussing around the stable and playing with his horse.
October came in with glory on the hills. The plains were golden in their autumn grass, and on a wonderful day in the early part of the month Hartigan and Belle went riding down the canyon.
Belle had a scheme for coördinating their church work with that of the Baptists and Presbyterians, both represented now in their town of fifteen hundred inhabitants. But before she could get it laid before Jim, he was extolling the quick responsiveness of Blazing Star, and must needs demonstrate the latest accomplishment the horse had learned. That over, Belle resurrected her plan; but a gunshot at Fort Ryan switched the current of his thoughts to the eventful race.
Belle changed the subject and unfolded a scheme for getting all the Bylow children into the Cedar Mountain school the coming winter. They had just come to a little twelve-foot cut-bank gully, and Jim exclaimed: "Now, Belle, just watch him take it," and over they sailed, the perfection of grace. "I tell you, Belle," he went on, "it was a great idea to get that eastern pad. I've cut down my riding weight nearly twenty pounds by dropping all that gear. Blazing Star can clear six inches higher and go a foot farther in a jump, and I'll bet it gives him one hundred feet in a mile run."
Again Belle harked back to the school project. "It could be done for half the teacher's salary and every one of the neglected children might get a chance. It all depends on the attitude that School Trustee Higginbotham takes. My idea is to approach him through Hannah. She has a mighty level head, and if you and Dr. Jebb——"
"Oh! look at this coyote!" ejaculated Hartigan. "I must give him a run"; and away he went. For half a mile
there was an open flat, and the superior speed of the horse reduced the distance, at a very rapid rate. But the coyote reached a gully and disappeared with the quickness and cleverness of its race. Hartigan came galloping back.
Belle was looking amused and also worried. "Oh, Jim," she said, "I don't know what I am going to do with you. You won't talk Church, you won't talk school, you won't talk shop. All your thoughts are centred on horses, hunting—and coyotes," she added with a laugh.
"Sure, Belle, I never see a coyote run without thinking of a night I spent on the Cheyenne, when that puling little English lord spent the whole night shivering up a tree, to hear me and Little Breeches snoring on the ground and he thought it was wolves eating us up, because a little while before a coyote yelled in the bushes——" and again he was off in a racy account of those thrilling moments.
"Jim," she said, "I am going to say nothing but 'yes' and 'no' for a while, until you exhaust all your horse talk. Then I am going to make one more effort."
"A jack rabbit, by the powers!" Sure enough, a big white jack leaped up and darted away. A jack is speedier than a coyote, so Hartigan could not resist. "Hi, Hi, Hi!" he shouted to Blazing Star; and with flat hand on the croup, he raised the speed to top gear in a few jumps.
It was a fair sight to behold, and to many a cow-man it would have been information. The jack rabbit, next to the antelope, is the speediest quadruped on the plains. The cowboy does not try to follow the jack rabbit, but the blooded racer did. In a quarter of a mile the horse was nearly on him. He dodged like chain lightning—dodged as his life had taught him to dodge before the coyote and the hawk. The horse slowed up; the rabbit crossed a ridge; and when the rider reined upon the top, the jack was no more seen.
But just ahead was a finer sight. A band of antelope sprang forward with their white sterns shining. Of all the quadrupeds on the Plains, the antelope is the speediest. The greyhound can catch the hare; but is left a hopeless laggard by the swift-footed courser. No mounted Indian ever dreamed of overtaking the antelope in open chase. In speed it stands the highest in the West. Jim had often wished to match his steed against these plains-born coursers; but, hitherto, although antelope were often seen, they were protected by rough gullies or boulders or badger holes. A band of antelope on a level, open stretch was a glorious chance.
Bending low over his horse's neck, he shouted: "Now, Blazing Star, go it; ho! boy, go it!" and struck the flank behind for clear interpretation. The horse sprang forth at speed. The bounding wild things, just ahead, laid back their ears and went so fast that not a leg was seen, only a whizzing, blurred maze. And Blazing Star took in the thought and travelled faster and faster. The furlong start they had began to shrink.
"Good boy!" the rider shouted in elation. "Go it! go it, Blazing Star!" The antelope spurted—for a moment held their own; then, weakening at a mile, they lost so fast that Jim yelled and swung his hat, and in a little more the herd was overtaken. Fear seemed to rob them of power as Blazing Star dashed in among them. The bright-eyed pronghorns swerved; and the band split wide, and the horse dashed through. As he wheeled and galloped back, he shouted: "You saw that, Belle? You saw it? It has never been done before. In a fair race, on open stretch, they had two hundred yards' start and I caught them in a mile. Now I know what Blazing Star is. No creature on legs can beat him; no horse in the West can match him."
In a little while the riders turned again to Cedar Mountain. Hartigan led the way—and the talk. It was a stirring ride, but Belle's face wore a worried look when he left her.
* * *
CHAPTER XXX
The Fire
Every new town in America has the same set routine of experience. It springs up on land selected and laid out by a real estate speculator. The flimsiest and most combustible of buildings are rushed up. When the town has about five thousand inhabitants and these fire-trap buildings are close enough to burn one another, a fire breaks out and sweeps the whole thing away, destroying human lives, valuable stock, and priceless records; after which begins the epoch of brick buildings and fire prevention.
Cedar Mountain had not reached the size or compactness required for the wipe-out when its baptism of fire took place. Hartigan was roused in the night by a noise outside. Going to the window, he saw the sky filled with the glare of fire. As quickly as possible, he dressed and ran forth, becoming deeply agitated when he found that the fire was in the hotel whose stable housed Blazing Star. It was with a dreadful heartsink that he ran there. The stable was smoking, but not yet afire, and, with a thankful heart, he hurried Blazing Star forth, got him away to a safe place, and returned just in time to see the stable and all its immovable contents go up in a ruddy roar as the hay and straw took fire.
There were no human lives lost; nor any dwellings other than the hotel—for there was a clear space around that fire-trap and there had been no wind—but it was a valid baptism of fire. It resulted in the organization of a Volunteer Fire Brigade, and it also resulted in Hartigan's determination to erect a stable of his own, where he could have his horse under his eye, day and night. What he built was not a large stable, only ten by twelve feet, of rough pine lumber, with tar-paper weather-proofing and no floor, but he did it entirely with his own hands at a material cost of twelve dollars; and he put his soul into it. There were two stalls, one for Blazing Star and one for supplies. There was much good-humoured jesting at the "Horse Preacher" while the stable was building and the story went the rounds that he often used the empty stall for a study, in preference to the silent little room in the house. In any case, he hand-picked the hay to guard against the poisonous loco-weed, and washed the oats, to shut out any possibility of smut.
Immediately after the fire Higginbotham began to talk business to Jim. A mutual affection had grown up and the little agent and his wife had early become prominent in the church. As deacon, Higginbotham rendered good service, although it was noted that his judgment was always best after he had talked matters over at home. He was not averse to using his church connection for business purposes. In fact, he had been heard to say that the Church itself was chiefly a huge fire insurance company, taking risks for the next world instead of this. On the morning after the fire, he was up betimes to sail with the wind, to take advantage of the stir-up that the public mind had got; and he secured a lot of new business.
"Now, Mr. Hartigan, why don't you insure that horse of yours? Just think where you would have been if you hadn't got him out in time last night. Why, I knew a man who bought a horse for fifty dollars in the morning, insured him for two hundred and fifty dollars at noon, and next night he was burnt up. The very next day he got his check for two hundred and fifty dollars. That's the way our company does business; all in twenty-four hours."
The idea of a joyful profit out of Blazing Star's incinerated remains was distinctly unpleasant, much like asking a mother to realize on her baby, and Hartigan took out no policy, but it had the effect of making him try to set a market value on the horse.
It was late in the season now, October was nearly gone; but still he and Belle rode forth together.
"What is next Sunday's lesson?" was Belle's very usual question. "Well," said Hartigan, "I came across a text that filled me with joy. 'When Amaziah, King of Judah, was murdered,' it says, 'They brought him upon horses and buried him with his fathers in the city of Judah.'
"Brought him on horses. What a picture, Belle! Just think of that royal stiff strapped square across the backs of four fine horses, all bridled together, and then driven madly across the desert, through the land of the freebooting Arabs, who would be more than apt to seize the corpse and hold it for a ransom. What a race! You bet they had horses then! They were Arab stock all right. I wonder no artist ever put that royal funeral on canvas. How does it strike you, Belle?"
"Wild enough and picturesque enough for the Black Hills; but I don't seem to get the lesson, I might almost add another text to your list: 'A horse is a vain thing for safety.'" Then, suddenly, she said: "Have you see
n Colonel Waller lately?"
"No."
"Is it too far to ride there?"
"Not if you can stand it."
"I can; but I wish you'd tighten my cinch."
Jim was well pleased to be her groom; and, hauling on the strap, his hat tipped off and his head touched her knee, she laid her hand on his head and a thrill went through him. Belle knew the game and the risks, in spite of her very old-fashioned parents. All along, she had held him back to a certain line; even though it was clearly understood to both of them and all their world that he was her avowed and accepted lover. She gloried in his physical charm and power. She took a woman's pride in his devotion, and maybe, most of all, in her sovereignty over him; she realized more clearly than any one else, how completely he was her plastic material. A mighty engine, indeed, he had need of a skilful engineer. A splendid steed of rarest power and gift, his power and gift were useless, even worse, without the deft control of the rider, who should become in a sense his soul, as the captain is the soul of a great ship. And Belle had come to know that the best work she could ever hope to do was as the captain of this ship.
And what was to hinder? Belle knew; her soft brown eyes could see much farther through the stone wall than could his piercing eyes of blue. She estimated at its true potency the passion that now threatened to wreck his career. A lover of horses always, an absolute worshipper of Blazing Star, he was barely held in restraint by his promises and fears of Church discipline, and Belle foresaw a time when his wild, impulsive nature would break out. He would surely be swept away by the wild currents of which the horse race is the vortex; and, having once lost hold, he would go the pace, break all rules, and end...? She knew, but dared not say.
Winter would soon be on them and, with that, the end of their happy rides together on the plains. The different life enforced would put them more apart—cut off these saddle tête-à-têtes, and with all the happenings, past or future, in her mind Belle was ready for a woman's game; the time had come to play it. That tightening of the cinch was not by chance.