The Preacher of Cedar Mountain: A Tale of the Open Country

  CHAPTER XXVII

  The Start

  September came, with all the multiplied glories of the BlackHills--calm, beautiful weather in a calm and beautiful country. For daysback, there had been long strings of Indians, with their families andcamp outfits, moving down the trail between the hills, bound all for thegreat raceground at Fort Ryan. Lodges were set up every day. Each of thehalf-dozen tribes formed its own group. Ranchmen came riding in,followed by prairie schooners or round-up wagons, for their camps;motley nondescripts from Deadwood and places round about. There wereeven folk from Bismarck and Pierre and, of course, all Cedar Mountainand the soldiers from the Fort.

  "Sure, I didn't know there _were_ so many people," was Hartigan's remarkto Belle, as they rode on the morning of the fifteenth about the campwith its different kinds of life. Then, after a long pause and gazearound, he added, in self-examining tone: "Faith, Belle, it seems to methat, being a Preacher, I ought to get up and denounce the whole thing,preach right now and evermore against it, and do all I can to stop it,but--heaven help me if I am a hypocrite--I don't feel that way at all; Ijust love it, I love to see all these people here, I love to see thehorses, and I wouldn't miss that race if it were the last thing on earthI was to look on. Oh, I haven't been betting, Belle," he hastened toexplain as he saw the look of dread on her face. "I've kept clear of itall, but God only knows what it means to me."

  "Never fear, Belle," he went on, "I won't ride in a race, I won't bet;I've given my word."

  "Oh, Jim, you are a riddle; you are not one, you are two men; and theyfight the whole time. But I know the wiser one is winning and I thinkthe best friend you ever had was that big fellow that threatened youwith the 'bone-rot' if ever you broke your word. I believe in you moreand more," and impulsively she laid her hand on his with a warmth thatprovoked such instant response that she smote her horse and swungaway--fearful of a situation for which she was not ready.

  At three o'clock, an officer from the Fort rode over to Red Cloud'slodge and notified him that in one hour the race was to begin. TheWar-chief grunted.

  At four, the crowd was dense around the track, and the country nearseemed quite deserted. Near the starting post, which was also thefinish, were a huge crowd and a small army of mounted men. Suddenlyshots were heard, and a great shout went up from the Indian camp; thenforth came Red Cloud, in all his war paint and eagle feathers, followedby other warriors; and carefully led in the middle of the procession wasthe famous buckskin cayuse, sleek, clean-limbed, but decorated witheagle feathers in mane and tail, with furry danglers on his fetlocks anda large red hand painted on each shoulder and hip. He had no saddle andwas led with an ordinary hackima of hair rope around his lower jaw. Hewalked alertly and proudly, but showed no unusual evidence of pace orfire.

  Then a cannon boomed at the Fort, and from the gate there issued anotherprocession, soldiers chiefly, following their Colonel. First among themcame a bugler, the officers, then next a trooper, leading the whitehope--the precious Red Rover. His groomed and glossy coat was shining inthe sun; his life and power were shown in every movement as he prancedat times, in spite of the continual restraint of his trainer, who wasleading him. On the other side, rode Peaches, the little English jockey.It was a bitter pill to the Americans that they should have to trusttheir fortunes to an English rider, but all their men were too heavy,except Little Breeches, and, he, alas, had fallen into the hands of thewhiskey mongers. The ladies of the garrison rode close behind; and last,came the regimental band, in full thump and blare. As they neared thestarting post, the band was hushed and the bugle blew a fanfare; then,with the Colonel leading, the racer was taken to the starting post.

  Red Cloud was there calmly waiting with his counsellors and braves andthe buckskin cayuse.

  "Are you ready?" shouted Colonel Waller.

  "Ho," said Red Cloud, and with an imperious wave of his hand heindicated "Go ahead!"

  The light racing pad was put on Red Rover, the jockey mounted and rodehim at a canter for a hundred yards and back, amid an outburst ofapplause as the splendid creature showed his pace. Then the groomapproached and tightened the cinch.

  The buckskin cayuse was brought to the front. Red Cloud made a gesture.A sixteen-year-old boy, armed with a quirt, appeared; an Indian gave hima leg up, and, naked to the breech clout on the naked horse, he sat likea statue. Jim got a strange thrill as he recognized him for thevigil-keeper of Cedar Mountain.

  "Well," grumbled the Colonel, as he noted the jockey, "that's atwenty-five pound handicap on us, but I guess we can stand it." Yet,when they saw the two horses together, there was less disparity in sizethan they had supposed. But there was something about the buckskin thatcaught Hartigan's eye and made him remark: "It isn't going to be such awalk-over as our fellows think." And the trainer of Red Rover, as henoted the round barrel, clean limbs, and flaring nostrils of thebuckskin, had for a moment just a guilty twinge as he recalled how laxhe had been in the training after that run at Yellowbank Canyon.

  But all was ready. The white men won the toss for choice and got theinside track; not that it mattered very much, except at the turn. Thecrowd was sent back to the lines, the riders held the racers to thescratch and, at a pistol crack, they bounded away.

  Those that expected to see something spectacular at the start weredisappointed. The English jockey leaned forward, touched Red Rover withhis whip, and alongside the Indian boy on the buckskin did the very samething. The Indian boy smiled and the Englishman responded, but in asuperior way. He felt it was almost unfair to run against such a child,and in such a race, which wasn't a real race at all, in spite of theheavy stakes.

  Thus they rode side by side at a good pace for half a mile, during whichthe buckskin drifted behind a little, now a length, now a length and ahalf. Next the copper-coloured jockey touched him up and, before thewhite man knew it, the bounding buckskin closed again and came right up,but now on the inside track. If the Englishman had not felt soconfident, he would have stopped this well-known trick. It might nothave been easy, since there were no lines or posts except the turningpoint, but it could have been prevented by deft man[oe]uvring. However,the Indian was now abreast on the inside and as the Englishman watchedhim he concluded that this child of nature was not so simple as helooked. He comforted himself with the thought that the other would needall he could get out of jockeying.