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

Those that expected to see something spectacular at the start were disappointed. The English jockey leaned forward, touched Red Rover with his whip, and alongside the Indian boy on the buckskin did the very same thing. The Indian boy smiled and the Englishman responded, but in a superior 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 the heavy stakes.

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



CHAPTER XXVIII

The Finish

The first mile was covered in good, but not remarkable time. Then they came to the turning point. There was just the chance of changing places here, for the inner horse had the disadvantage of the sharper turn, but the Indian boy made sure by dropping back a half length and the turn was made without a reverse. After them now with shouts of joy went all the mounted men who had been waiting and rode in a thundering charge, yelling and cheering. The white jockey knew now that he was not dealing with a fool. The red boy, though not so well mounted, was just as good a rider as himself, and twenty pounds lighter, besides being without leathers, which raised the handicap to fully twenty-five pounds. In that first half mile on the home stretch the buckskin still was head and neck behind. Then the riders put forth all their skill and each did his best to call forth every ounce of strength and every spurt of speed in his mount.

The Indian boy let off his native yell and cried: "Ho, Huya—Huya—Huya!" and the keen quirt flashed and the buckskin flew.

"Ho, Rover! good boy, git, git!" and the white man smote the shining flank; and both the noble brutes responded as they had not done before. The sense of play was gone. It was now the real and desperate race. The gazing thousands ranged about knew that, and the mingled roar of all their voices rose to a mighty booming sound.

"Ho, Rover! Run, boy, run!"

"Huya, Shunguna, Ho! Ho! Yeh! Yeh! Yeh!" and the redskin rider smote hard those heaving flanks.

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 cooerdinating 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 seen 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 tete-a-tetes, 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.

They rode a race for a mile and Jim gallantly held back his mount so that she should keep the lead. They passed a slough along whose edge the gentians still were blue; she wanted some, and when he brought them she patted his hand, and gave the flowers an honoured place. Suddenly a coyote appeared and she raced with him on its trail till it was lost to view. She called forth all her horsemanship to match his, and make him feel their perfect harmony; and as they rode side by side, she laid her hand on his arm to call attention to some creature of the plains when at other times she would merely have spoken. It thrilled and stirred him, so he tried to follow up this willingness for touch. But she swung away each time. Then at a later keep-your-distance hint she gaily held out a hand to him and teased him by eluding his grasp. But not for long; with a great spurt he swept upon her, seized the tantalizing hand now accidentally bared, and the thrill of her touch, the joy of acceptation in that tiny squeeze, went warmly kindling through him. His colour came, his bright blue eyes grew brighter, he glowed in body and in spirit. Never before had she seemed so absolutely fascinating; never before had he felt how much she was to him, how wholly desirable and lovely she was, how much his measure of all good things. But he was such a boy in this side of life that he had never said one open word of love. He was as shy as most youths are at sixteen.

They were half way to the Fort now, the level plain spreading for a mile about them. There was no chance of interruption. Their horses had drawn close together again. She said, "Look at the bruise on my hand from last week's ride through the brush." He seized the hand; there was no bruise to be seen, but he bent his head and fervently kissed the place.

"Jim, do you really care so much?" she asked, with a sidelong glance and a little flush.

"Oh, Belle, you know—you must know——" And he choked.

"I wouldn't like to see you hold any other woman's hand that way." Their horses' shoulders rubbed and she accidentally swayed toward him; she seemed to lose her balance. In a minute his strong arms were about her; a great emotion swept him and all his ardent soul was aflame. With sudden abandon of all restraint, he showered on her lips a lover's passionate kisses, and forced his unwonted tongue and lips to shape the old refrain: "I love you; I love you; I love you better than my life."

She hid her burning face, but he held her tight, and the horses moved as one.

"Will you, Belle? Will you be my wife? I can't do anything without you. You have saved me from ruin. I can't do anything without you."

A jack rabbit sprang from under their feet, and Blazing Star, true to his training, darted away; and so the pair were forced apart. But, in a moment, Jim was back.

"Will you, Belle? Won't you take me?" He seized her hand and would have sought her lips again, but she held him back.

"I will, Jim, on one condition. Will you promise?"

"Anything. I'll promise anything I have or can be. Tell me what it is, Belle?"

"I will not tell you now; but I will before we get back to Cedar Mountain. Now let us ride"; and she touched her pony with the quirt, and led at a gallop which ended only at the house of Colonel Waller in Fort Ryan.



CHAPTER XXXI

Love in The Saddle

"Here come Apollo and Psyche," said Mrs. Waller, as she glimpsed them from the window. The Colonel was just leaving for his office and called to them, "Good morning! Go on in; Mrs. Waller is at home. I'll be back in half an hour."

Already there was a fire in the house, for the nights were chilly, and when the Colonel returned, they were sitting around it in the parlour.

"I want to see the stable," said Belle, so forth they went together, Hartigan with Mrs. Waller leading, and Belle with the Colonel. She lingered till the others were out of easy hearing, then led up to the subject of the horse race.

"It's a pretty sore subject yet," answered the Colonel. "Most of my men are pinching their families on half pay to work off their debts to those wily redskins."

"Do they have to pay?" said Belle.

"Well, these are debts of honour, you know, and in the man's code, that puts them ahead of rent, clothing, food, or mortgages."

"I suppose the men have got a lesson that will cure them of gambling for evermore?"

"Oh, no. Not at all. All they are thinking about now is where to get a horse that can turn the tables."

"Seems to me like burning one's hand because one got a finger scorched."

"Well, that's the man of it," said the Colonel. "If we could get Jim to run Blazing Star, the whole garrison would mortgage their lives for cash to stake on it and win back all they had lost or risked."

"Well, he won't; I tell you that. But why don't you buy Blazing Star, Colonel?"

"Because he won't sell. We've tried every way. I never saw a man so daffy over his horse."

"What would you consider a fair price, Colonel?"

"Well, Jim gave five dollars for him, to begin with, and refused two hundred and fifty dollars when he proved what stuff he had got. I should say three hundred dollars would be a fair price, four hundred dollars a good price and five hundred dollars an absolutely outside record price—scaled wholly on the fact that he's the fastest horse on these plains."

"Would you give five hundred dollars?"

"Yes, I would. I'll give Hartigan five hundred dollars for Blazing Star right now, in hard cash; but I don't say I'll hold it out very long. Accidents will happen; winter is coming, and a bad wintering often ruins a horse."

"Will you take the first chance to offer that to Hartigan? He'll refuse; but say you'll leave it open for a week, and I think you'll get Blazing Star."

The Colonel laughed a little, and wondered what was up. His wife, when she heard of it, said: "Ho, ho! I know; they want to get married, and that's the easiest way to raise the needful."

And thenceforth she took a motherly interest in the handsome couple.

Within half an hour the Colonel found the chance to make his offer; and got what he expected, a flat refusal.

"Sure, Colonel, it would be like selling the hand off my arm or the soul out of my body."

"Well, well," said the Colonel, "never mind. I won't take your answer now; we'll leave it open for a week."

After the midday meal, Jim and Belle mounted and rode away. Jim thought to take matters up where he had left off, but he found Belle inclined to be shy and rather preoccupied. He made several ineffectual attempts to get her to talk, but she always relapsed into silence. They were, indeed, half-way back, when Hartigan began for the fifth time:

"You said you would tell me on the road back."

"Tell you what?"

"Tell me the condition on which you will have me."

He leaned over and put his arm around her. This time she did not elude him. He clasped her and sought her lips and she allowed her head to sink on his shoulder while he gathered the reins of both horses in his hand, that they might not separate. She seemed content.

"You do care for me, don't you?" she whispered.

"Oh, Belle! I'd do anything for you. I'd give my life for you."

"You would? Anything?"

"Only try me."

"Would you give up the ministry if I asked you?"

"If—if—you thought it was right—I know it would be right. Yes, I'd do it."

"Then I won't ask that. I'll put you to a smaller test. Will you face it?"

"I'll promise now; I give you my word before you name it."

"Then this is what I ask—that you sell Blazing Star to Colonel Waller right now, this very day."

"Oh, oh, Belle!" he said, feebly; "Blazing Star!"

"Yes, Jim, that is the condition. I love you, Jim; but you must choose now between us. Is it Belle or Blazing Star?"

For a moment he seemed stunned but he tightened his arms about her, and tense the answer came. "I can't do without you, Belle, I can't do without you. I've given you my word. I take you on your terms."

"Oh, Jim!" and she broke down, passionately sobbing in his arms. "Oh, Jim! You great, glorious, wonderful, blind Jim Hartigan, don't you know that I love you? Don't you know I have thought it all out? Can't you see where Blazing Star was taking you? It is not caprice; you will know some day."

"I know, I know now. I'll do what you say."

"Then turn right around and go back to Fort Ryan." They turned; she led; and they raced without pulling rein.

"Colonel, I've come to take your offer," said Hartigan.

"You're a wise man," said the Colonel. "Come into the office." He drew up a check for five hundred dollars. Jim put it in his wallet and said feebly, "He's yours. You'll be kind to him?" Then he covered his face with his hands, and the tears splashed through his fingers to the floor.

"Never mind," said the Colonel, deeply touched. "He'll be treated like a king. You'll see him in the race next summer and you'll see him win."

In all the blackness of that hour of loss that thought was the one gleam of comfort in the realm of horse. Now he would see his racer on the track. The Church held him, but held his horse no longer.

* * * * *

Then the Angel of Destiny as he downward gazed, said to the Angel of the Fire—and his voice trembled a little as he spoke—"Rejoice, for the furnace was heated exceeding hot and the metal is shining brighter, far brighter than before."



BOOK IV

THE HORSE PREACHER AFOOT



CHAPTER XXXII

The Advent of Midnight

The ride home after that fateful decision was an event to be remembered. Jim was on a cavalry mount, loaned for the occasion. Belle felt that since he had given up so much for her, it was her part now to prove how good a bargain he had made; and she exerted all her powers to double her ample hold on his love and devotion. She had no reason to question her power; she had almost overmuch success. Jim wanted her to name the day, but whatever her wishes might have been, her judgment held her back.

"Jim, dear love, don't you see? We must wait a long time. Your income is barely enough for one. You are only a probationer with one year's leave from college, and, at most, an extension of another year possible. What little I can bring as my share of the 'combine' won't go very far."

"Well," said Jim, "I've got the cash to furnish our house with, anyway," and he slapped his hand on his wallet pocket. "I'll put that in the bank till we need it."

"Good boy!" and Belle smiled happily.

Arrived at Cedar Mountain, Jim took the cavalry mount to the livery stable; and three days later, the little stable he had built for Blazing Star was torn down and carried away.

Jim was looking for a new mount, when one day Cattleman Kyle appeared in the town, and they met for a few minutes at the blacksmith shop.

"Hello, Jim! What are you riding these days?" was his greeting.

"To tell the truth, I'm afoot, hard afoot," was the reply.

"Anything in sight?"

"Not yet."

"Come with me for a minute. I'm cutting down my saddle stock for the winter. I've got a bunch of bronchos in the corral by the river. Have a look at them."

Jim went rather reluctantly; his heart was still sore over Blazing Star, and he was not ready yet to put another into the vacant place. After a silent five minutes' walk, they reached the corral with fifty horses of all colours, sizes, and shapes. Then Kyle said: "Jim, I've been thinking, preachers ain't exactly broken-backed carrying their spondulix. I kind o' think I owe ye something in the way of possibilities for putting Blazing Star in hands which may be a big help to me. So there's my bunch; you can go over them at your own time and pick the best as a free gift."

"Ye mean it?"

"That's what I mean, and there's my hand on it," said Kyle. And it was so. That was the way of the old-time cattleman. If he lived at all, his money came in large chunks. He lived lavishly, and made a fortune, if moderately lucky. So they were a generous lot; they were truly cattle kings.

But the cattle king reducing his horse herd does not select his best stock for the hammer; quite the reverse. Some would have called his bunch the scrubs and tailings of the Circle K ranch. Hartigan knew that; but he also knew that it must contain some unbroken horses and he asked to see them. There were ten, and of these he selected the biggest. A man of his weight must have a better mount than a pony. So the tall, rawboned, black three-year-old was roped and handed over to the Preacher. Kyle did not fail to warn him that "Midnight" had a temper.

"Faith, it's mesilf can see that," said Hartigan, "but he isn't broken yet, and that means his temper isn't spoiled. And it's mesilf will bring him to time, and he never will be broke. If your broncho-busters take him in hand, they'll ride him in a week, but they'll make a divil of him. I'll take him in hand and in three months I'll have him following me round with tears in his eyes, just begging me to get on his back, and go for a run."

Who that knows the horse will doubt it? Hartigan's first aim was to convince the black colt that men were not cruel brutes, and that he, Hartigan, was the gentlest and kindest of them all. And this he did by being much with him, by soft talking, by never being abrupt, and by bringing him favourite food. Not in a stable—it was a month before the wild horse would consent to enter a stable—this first period of training was all in a corral. Then came the handling. Midnight was very apt to turn and kick when first a hand was laid on him, but he learned to tolerate, and then to love the hand of his master; and when this treatment was later reinforced with a currycomb, the sensation pleased him mightily. The bridle next went on by degrees—first as a halter, then as a hackimore, last complete with bit. The saddle was the next slow process—a surcingle, a folded blanket and cinch, a double blanket and cinch, a bag of oats and cinch and, finally, the saddle and rider. It was slow, but it was steadily successful; and whenever the black colt's ears went back or his teeth gave a rebellious snap, Jim knew he was going too fast, and gently avoided a clash. Never once did he fight with that horse; and before three months had passed, he was riding the tall black colt; and the colt was responding to his voice and his touch as a "broken" horse will never do.

"Yes," said Kyle, "I know all about that. It costs about twenty-five dollars to learn a horse that way, and it costs about five dollars to break him cowboy way. An average horse is worth only about twenty-five dollars. The cowboy way is good enough for our job, so I don't see any prospect of change till we get a price that will justify the 'training.'"

Belle was an intensely interested spectator of all this Midnight chapter. She wanted Jim to get a good horse that he would love, but oh, how she prayed and hoped he would not happen on another speeder! She knew quite well that it was about one chance in ten thousand; but she also knew that Jim could make a good horse out of mediocre material; and it was with anxiety just the reverse of his that she watched the black colt when first they rode together. He was strong and hard, but, thank heaven, she thought, showed no sign of racing blood.

"Of course, he'll come up a little later, when I get him well in hand," Jim explained apologetically.

And Belle added, "I hope not."

"Why?" asked Jim in surprise.

"Because, you might ride away from me." And she meant it.



CHAPTER XXXIII

The Sociable

Christmas time with its free days and its social gatherings was at hand; and the Church folk must needs respond to the spirit of the season with a "sociable." In such a meeting, the young minister is king—that is the tradition—and on this occasion it was easier than usual to crown the heir apparent. At least twenty girls were making love to Jim, and he was quite unconscious of it all, except that he thought them a little free, and at length he recited an appropriate couplet from "The Solitude of Alexander Selkirk": "They are so unaccustomed to man, their tameness is shocking to me." He joked and laughed with all; but ever he drifted over toward Belle, to consult, to whisper, to linger.

For such affairs there is a time-honoured and established programme that was fairly well adhered to at least in the early part. They met at the church parlours and gossiped; had a prayer, then more gossip; next followed tea and cakes in a poisonous abundance, and more gossip. Now the older preacher, as expected, read a chapter out of some safe story book, amid gossip—harmless in the main, but still gossip. Next the musical geniuses of the congregation were unchained. A perfectly well-meaning young lady sang, "Be kind to your brother, he may not last long," to an accompaniment of squeaks on the melodeon—and gossip. A boy orator recited "Chatham's speech on American Independence," and received an outburst of applause which, for a moment, overpowered the gossip.

Lou-Jane Hoomer, conspicuous for her intense hair and noisy laugh, had been active in getting up the sociable, and now she contributed of her talents by singing "Home, Sweet Home." About the middle of the second period, according to custom, the preacher should recite "Barbara Frietchie" to a whispering chorus of gossip. But Jim was brought up in a land not reached by Barbara's fame and he made a new departure by giving a Fenian poem—"Shamus O'Brien"—with such fervour that, for the moment, the whisperers forgot to gossip.

Belle, as the manager of the affair, was needed everywhere and all the time, but made no contribution to the programme. Lou-Jane scored such a success with "Home, Sweet Home" that she was afterward surrounded by a group of admirers, among them Jim Hartigan.

"Sure," he said, she "was liable to break up the meeting making every one so homesick," and she replied that "it would never break up as long as he was there to attract them all together."

John Higginbotham, with his unfailing insurance eye, pointed out that the stove-pipe wire had sagged, bringing the pipe perilously near the woodwork, and then gossiped about the robberies his company had suffered. A game of rhymes was proposed. In this one person gives a word and the next to him must at once match it with an appropriate rhyme. This diversion met with little enthusiasm and the party lagged until some one suggested that Jim recite. He chose a poem from Browning, "How They Brought the Good News from Ghent to Aix." He put his very soul in those galloping horses and wondered why the poet said so much about the men and so little about the steeds. Dr. Jebb could not quite "see the lesson," but the fire and power of the rendering gripped the audience. Dr. Carson said, "Now you're doing real stuff! If you'd cut out all your piffling goody talk and give us life like that, you'd have all the town with you."

Lou-Jane was actually moved, and Belle glowed with pride to see her hero really touching the nobler strings of human emotion—strings that such a community is apt to lose sight of under cobwebs of long disuse but they are there and ready to resound to the strong, true soul that can touch them with music.

But what was it in the trampling horses that stirred some undiscovered depth in his own heart? How came it that those lines drove fogbanks back and showed another height in his soul, a high place never seen before, even by himself? And, as those simple townfolk, stirred they knew not how, all clamoured for another song, he felt the thrill that once was his in the far-off stable yard of Links, when Denny Denard, brandishing a dung-fork, chanted "The Raiding of Aymal." Now it all came back and Hartigan shouted out the rede:

"Haakon is dead! Haakon is dead! Haakon of the bronze-hilt sword is dead. His son's in his stead; Aymal, tall son of Haakon, Swings now the bronze-hilt sword of his father. He is gone to the High-fielden To the high pasture to possess the twelve mares of his father; Black and bay and yellow, as the herdsman drave them past him; Black and yellow, their manes on the wind; And galloped a colt by the side of each."

So he sang in a chant the saga-singer's tale of the king killing all the colts save one that it might have the nursing of the twelve. His eye sparkled and glowed; his colour mounted; his soul was so stirred with the story that his spirit could fill the gaps where his memory failed. The sense of power was on him; he told the swinging tale as though it were in verity his own; and the hearers gazed intensely, feeling that he sang of himself. It was no acting, but a king proclaiming himself a king, when he told of the world won by the bronze sword bearer mounted on the twelve-times-nourished stallion colt; and he finished with a royal gesture and injunction:

"Ho! ye, ye seven tall sons of Aymal, Comes there a time when face you many trails; Hear this for wisdom now; Twelve colts had I and all save one I slew. The twelve-times-nourished charger grew And round the world he bore me And never failed; so all the world was mine And all the world I ruled. Ho, children of the bronze-hilt sword, Take this for guiding creed: Pick out your one great steed And slay the rest and ride."

And when he smote the table with his fist the folk in that poor, simple hall were hushed with awe. They had no words to clothe the thoughts that came, no experience of their own to match them. There was a pauses—a silence; a slow, uncertain sounding of applause. Carson glared half hypnotized; then said to himself: "This is not Jim Hartigan; this is the royal saga who sang."

What he clearly expressed, the others vaguely but deeply felt. As for Belle, the passion and the power of it possessed her. She was deeply moved—and puzzled, too. It was a side of Jim she had not known before. Later, as they went home together hand on arm, she held on to him very tightly and said softly: "Now I know that you are marked for big things in the world."



CHAPTER XXXIV

Springtime

Have you seen the springtime dawn on the Black Hills? No? Then you have never seen a real spring.

For long, dark, silent months the land has lain under a broad white robe, the plains are levelled, hidden, and the whiteness of the high spaces sweeps down to meet, on the lower hills, the sudden blackness of the forest pine. And now you know why these are named Black Hills. Full four white moons have waned; the blizzard wind has hissed and stung, till the house-bound wonder if the days of spring will ever come. In March, when the northward-heading crows appear, the sting-wind weakens, halts; the sweet south wind springs up, the snow-robe of the plains turns yellow here and there as the grass comes through, then lo! comes forth a world of crocus bloom. The white robe shrivels fast now, the brown pursues it up the mountain side till at the last there is nothing left but a high-up snow-cap hiding beneath the pines, slowly dissolving in a million crystal rills to swell the rolling Cheyenne far below. The spring birds fill the air, the little ones that twitter as they pass, and the great gold-breasted prairie lark that sings and sings: "The Spring, the Spring, the glory of the Spring!" Then all the world is glad, and stronger than the soft new wind, deeper than the impulse of awakening flower bulbs, broader than the brightening tinge of green—is the thrill of a world-wide, sky-wide joy and power, the exquisite tenderness and yearning which if you know, you know; and if you do not know it none can make you understand.

"O God of the blue and the green and the wind, oh, send me what my spirit craves." That is the prayer, the unspoken prayer, of every sun-wise creature in these days; and the wild things race and seek, and search and race, not knowing what draws them ever on; but they surely know when they find it, and then they are at rest.

And they rode, Belle and Jim, the big square man, and the maid with the age-old light in her eyes, and they rejoiced in the golden plains. They rode with the wild things of the plain, and though they talked of the past and the future there was for them but one thing worth a thought, the golden present in their golden youth.

"Oh, Belle, what fools we are! We talk of the past and of far-off days, of the blessings that are ahead of us, and I know there is no better joy than this, to ride and shout and be alive right now with you!"

Midnight had burgeoned out into a big strong horse; not swift, but staunch and better fitted than the other for a rider of such weight. The wound of losing Blazing Star had healed, and the scar it left was a precious thing to Jim much as the Indian holds his Sun Dance scars as proofs of fortitude unflinching.

Fort Ryan and all the plains were in a rosy light this spring. It was a threefold joy to ride on Midnight, with Belle, and to visit Blazing Star in his stall at the Fort. Hartigan felt a little guilty as the gentle creature would come and nose about for sugar lumps while Midnight would lay back his ears at the approach. Midnight had a temper, as was well known; but it was never let forth, for the master that had so little skill in handling men was adept with the horse.

These were very full days for Jim and Belle, though they took their happiness in very different moods. There never was a grown man more incapable of thought for the morrow than Hartigan; he was alive right now, he would right now enjoy his life and Belle should be the crown. But in her eyes even his imperception discovered a cloud.

"What is it, Belle? Why do you get that far-off troubled look?"

"Oh, Jim, you big, blind, childish giant; do you never think? You are only a probationer with one year's leave. That year is up on the first of May."

"Why, Belle darling, that's five weeks off. A world of things may happen before that."

"Yes, if we make them happen, and I'm going to try."

"Well, Belle, this thing I know; if you set your mind to it I'd bet—if I weren't a preacher—I'd bet there's not a thing could stand against you."

"I like your faith, Jim; but 'faith without works is dead'; and that means we must get up and rustle."

"What do you suggest?"

"Well, I have been rustling this long while back. I've been working Dr. Jebb and Mrs. Jebb and anybody else I could get hold of, to have your probation extended for another year. And the best news we have so far is the possibility of another six months. After that, you must go back to college to complete your course."

COLLEGE! Jim was thunderstruck. How many a man has all his dream of bliss summed up in that one word—college? "Oh, if only I had money enough to go to college!" is the cry of hundreds who hunger for the things that college means; and yet, to Jim, it was like a doom of death. College, with all the horror of the classroom ten times worse since knowing the better things. College in the far-off East—deadly, lifeless, crushing thing; college that meant good-bye to Belle, to life, and red blood on the plains. Yes, he knew it was coming, if ever he gave the horrid thing a thought; but now that it was close at hand the idea was maddening. College was simply another name for hell. The effect of the sudden thought on his wild, impulsive nature was one great surging tide of rebellion.

"I won't go!" he thundered. "Belle, do you suppose God brought me out here to meet you, and have you save me from ruin and help me to know the best things on earth, just to chuck it all and go back to a lot of useless rot about the number of wives the kings of Judah used to have, or how some two-faced Hebrew woman laid traps for some wine-soaked Philistine brute, and stuck the rotten loafer in the back with a kitchen knife all for the pleasure and glory of a righteous God! I don't want any more of it, Belle; I won't go! You've told me often enough that my instincts are better than my judgment, and my instincts tell me to stay right here," and his face flushed red with passion.

"Dear boy! Don't you know I'm trying to help you? Don't you know I mean to keep you here? You know that we can get anything we want, if we are willing to pay the price, and will have it. I mean to keep you here; only I am trying not to pay too high a price."

She laid her hand on his. He reached out and put an arm about her. She said nothing, and did nothing. She knew that he must blow off this fierce steam, and that the reaction would then set in with equal force.

They rode for a mile in silence; she wanted him to speak first.

"You always help me," he said at last, heaving a great sigh. "You are wiser than I am."

She gently patted his cheek. He went on: "What do you think I should do?"

"Nothing for three days; then we'll see."

They galloped for half a mile, and every sign of worry was gone from his face as they reined their horses in at the stable of Fort Ryan.



CHAPTER XXXV

When the Greasewood is in Bloom

Big things were in the air, as all the horsemen knew. Blazing Star had wintered well and, being a four-and-a-half-year-old, was in his prime. Red Rover in the adjoining stable was watched with equal care. Prairie hay was judged good enough for the country horses; but baled timothy, at shocking prices, was brought from Pierre for the two racers; and, after a brief period of letdown on clover and alfalfa, the regular routine diet of a race horse was begun, as a matter of course. Little Breeches had left, chiefly because of unpleasant remarks that he continued to hear in the stable. He had taken a springtime job among the cattle. So Peaches, having no other string to his bow, allowed the officers "to secure his services as second assistant trainer," as he phrased it, or, as they with brutal simplicity put it, "as stable boy." He accepted this gravely responsible position on the explicit understanding that allusions to the late race were in bad taste.

Why should these two horses be so carefully trained? There was no race on the calendar. No, but every one assumed that there would be a challenge, and nobody dreamed of declining it. So, one day when all the plains were spangle-glint with grass and bloom, the sentry reported horsemen in the south, a band of Indians, probably Sioux. It was an hour before they halted near the Fort, and Red Cloud, on a fine strong pony, came with his counsellors around him to swing his hand in the free grace of the sign talk, to smoke and wait, and wait and smoke, and then speak, as before, on the Colonel's porch.

"Did the Soldier High Chief want a race this year?"

"Sure thing," was all the interpreter had to transmute.

"When?"

"As before."

"When the greasewood blooms, on the white man's big noisy wet Sunday?" For the treaty money was to be paid that day. And Colonel Waller's eyes lit up.

So it was arranged that the Fourth of July they should race as before on the Fort Ryan track; the horses were to be named on the day of the race. And Red Cloud rode away.

Jim Hartigan was present at that interview; he watched their every move, he drank in every word, and he rode at a gallop till he found Belle. "Belle, the race is on for the Fourth of July, they're going to enter Blazing Star. Oh, glory be! I'll see that race; I'll see Blazing Star show all the country how."

"Yes, unless you are sent back to college."

"Oh, Belle, that's a cruel one. Just as everything looks gay, you hand me that," and his face clouded. He knew too well that there was little likelihood of an extension; it was most unusual. Why should an exception be made in his case?

"You know, Jim," she said very seriously, "we have been trying to move the president of the college; and the fact that you are so much of a favourite is additional reason for getting you back. The president has turned us down."

"Well, Belle, I simply won't go."

"You mean you will break with the Church?"

"I'll avoid that as long as possible, but I won't go back—at least, not now."

"Jim," she said, with a twinkle in her eye, "the president turned down Dr. Jebb and John Higginbotham and you; but we were not licked. Mrs. Jebb, Hannah Higginbotham, and myself went after the president's wife, and this morning Dr. Jebb got a new mandate; not all we asked, but your furlough is extended for six months more."

"Hooray! Whoop!" was the response.

"Yes, I thought so," said Belle. "That's why I asked Dr. Jebb to let me break the news. For a serious divinity student, it's wonderful what a good imitation you can give of a man who hates books."

"Well, now, Belle, you know, and I know, and all the world knows, I can preach a better sermon than Dr. Jebb, although he has studied a thousand books to my one and knows more in a minute of time than I can ever know in a month of Sundays. And, if I go to college and learn to talk like him, I'll put people to sleep in church just as he does. Hasn't the attendance doubled since I came?" There was no question of that due in part to the growth of the town, and partly also to Hartigan's winning personality and interesting though not very scholarly sermons.

"All right," said Belle. "You are saved from the terrible fate for six months. Be happy."

And he was. To such a buoyant soul a guarantee of six months' freedom put slavery so very far away that it was easy to forget it.



CHAPTER XXXVI

Shoeing the Buckskin

Hartigan and the blacksmith were at it hard again.

"Look a' here," said Shives, "I want ye to notice all this here Church business was faked up by that man Paul, or Saul, or whatever he called himself; and the real disciples would have nothing to do with him. They threw him down cold whenever he tried to mix in. Now if you chuck him and stick to the simple kindness of the old-timers that really did sit around with the Master—Paul never even saw Him!—I'm willing to hear ye. But a man that writes whole screeds about getting or not getting married and what kind of frippery women have to wear on their heads, well, I've got him sized up for a fellow that had a dressing down from some woman and probably deserved all he got—and more."

It was a long speech for Shives and more than once John Higginbotham tried to break in.

But Shives struck the anvil a succession of ringing blows which overpowered all rival voices as effectively as any speaker's gavel could have done. Then, turning suddenly on Higginbotham, he said, "See here, Deacon" (and he stressed the "Deacon"), "if you take the trouble to read a publication called the Bible, and in particular the early numbers of the second volume, you'll find that the Big Teacher taught socialism—and the real disciples did, too. It was that little lawyer feller Paul that succeeded in twisting things around to the old basis of 'get all you can; there must always be rich and poor'; and it ain't a bit of use your preaching to a man 'don't steal,' when his babies are crying for bread. I know I'd steal fast enough; so would you, if you were anything of a man. It would be your 'fore-God duty to steal; yes, and murder, too, if there was no other way of feeding them that He gave you to feed. And the law has no right to preach 'no stealing' when it fixes it so you can't help stealing. If this yere government of ours was what it pretends to be and ain't, it would arrange so every man could get enough work at least to feed him and his folks and save himself from starvation when he was sick or old. There wouldn't be any stealing then and mighty little of any other crime.

"That's my opinion; and I tell you it was that way the Big Teacher preached it in the beginning, as you can see plain enough. And the first ring of disciples were honest socialists. It was that letter-writing advance agent of the trusts that you call Saint Paul, that managed to get control of the company and then twisted things back into the old ways. And in my opinion the hull bunch of you is crooks hiding behind the name of a good man who threw you down cold when He was alive. And the very words He used happens to be a verse I remember: 'Ye compass sea and land to make one proselyte and when he is made ye make him twofold more a child of hell than yourselves.'"

And the anvil rang, "clang, clang, clang!"

"Now, Shives," bawled Jim in his stentorian voice, "you haven't begun to think. And every statement you make is wrong and none of your quotations ever happened before; otherwise, I am quite willing to accept everything you say. For example——"

"Hello! who's this?"

Up to the door of the blacksmith shop came riding a band of mounted Indians. First of these was a middle-sized man with large square features, a single eagle feather in his hair. Hartigan recognized at once the famous War Chief, Red Cloud, the leader of all the Sioux. Riding beside him was an interpreter, and behind him was a small boy, mounted on a tall pony—buckskin, so far as one could tell, but so shrouded in a big blanket that little of his body was seen; his head was bedizened with a fancy and expensive bridle gear.

The whole shop turned to see. The interpreter got down and approaching Shives, said, "You can shoe pony, when he ain't never been shod?"

"Sure thing," said Shives, "we do it every day."

"How much?"

"Five dollars."

"Do him now?"

"Yes, I guess so."

The interpreter spoke to Red Cloud; the Chief motioned to the boy, who dropped from the blanketed pony and led it forward.

"Bring him in here," and Shives indicated the shop. But that was not so easy. The pony had never before been under a roof, and now he positively declined to break his record. Some men would have persisted and felt it their duty to show the horse "who is boss." Shives was inclined to be masterful; it was Hartigan who sized up the situation.

"He's never been under a roof, Jack. I wouldn't force him; it'll only make trouble."

"All right; tie him out there." So the pony was tied on the shady side of the shop.

Hartigan turned to the half-breed interpreter to ask, "What do you want him shod for?" It was well known that the Indians did not shoe their horses.

The half-breed spoke to Red Cloud, who was standing near with his men, talking among themselves.

The Chief said something; then the interpreter replied, "By and by, we race him, maybe on the Big Wet Sunday; prairie wet, so he go slow."

There was a general chuckle at this. Sure enough, the Fourth of July, presumably the race day in mind, it nearly always rained; and for the wet track they wanted their racer shod.

There are few short operations that take more horse management that the first shoeing of a full-grown horse, especially a wild Indian pony. Nearly everything depends on the handling and on the courage of the pony. In nine cases out of ten, the pony must be thrown. On rare occasions a very brave horse, of good temper, can be shod by a clever farrier without throwing. But it takes a skilful shoer, with a strong and skilful helper, for the assistant must keep one front foot of the horse off the ground all the time the hind shoe is being put on, or the shoer is liable to get his brains kicked out. As they were discussing the need of throwing the pony, the interpreter said:

"Red Cloud no want him thrown. Chaska hold him." The bright-eyed boy from the mountain top—yes, the same—came forward and, holding the pony's head, began crooning a little song. The pony rubbed his nose against him, recovered his calm, and thanks to Hartigan's help—for he had volunteered eagerly to lend a hand—the operation progressed without mishap. There were, however, one or two little tussles, in which the great blanket slipped off the pony's back and showed a rounded, beautiful barrel of a chest, hocks like a deer, and smooth, clean limbs; a very unusually fine build for an Indian pony.

"By George! He's a good one," said Jim, and his heart warmed to the brave pony. The falling of the blanket also showed some white spots, left by ancient saddle galls. Hartigan, after a discriminating glance, said:

"Say, boys, this is their racer all right. This is the famous Buckskin Cayuse. He's a good one. Now you see why they want him shod."

What a temptation it was to the white men; how easy it would have been for Shives to put one nail in a trifle deep, to send that pony forth shod—well shod—but shod so that within the next ten miles he would go lame, and in the race, a month ahead, fall far behind—if, indeed, he raced at all. Yet, to his credit be it said that Shives handled that pony as though it were his own; he gave him every care, and Red Cloud paid the five dollars and rode away content.

Jim gazed after the little band as they loped gently down the street and round the curve till a bank cut off the view. "Say, boys, this is great," he said, "I wouldn't have missed it for anything. There's going to be a real race this year."

There could be no question of that. The securing of Blazing Star was a guarantee of a wonderful event if widespread interest and fine horseflesh could make it so.



CHAPTER XXXVII

The Boom

With the definite assurance of Blazing Star being entered, every man in Fort Ryan focussed his thoughts on how he might best turn the race to account, wipe out the damage of the last defeat, and recoup his loss with a double profit. They were very sorry for themselves, most of these losers; especially sorry that they, who could really enjoy money and who had actual need of so much, should lose their all to a lot of Indians who neither sought nor cared for cash and whose only pleasure in the race was the gambling spirit, the excitement of the game. This time the whites were going to leave no stone unturned to make a "killing." Every plan was discussed, and there were not lacking those who called Shives by ugly names—behind his back—for not seizing on the chance, when it was so easily in his hands, to put the Indian racer under shadow of a sure defeat. But they made no such speeches when the Colonel was in hearing.

Yet, after all, what did it matter? They had the ace in their hands now. There was no horse on the plains could run with Blazing Star; and, training with him, in the best of care, was the Red Rover, only a little less swift than the Star, now that careful methods had brought him his full-grown strength and speed. Microscopic studies were made of every fact that seemed to furnish a gauge of the horses' powers, and this was clear: Blazing Star was easily first; Red Rover would make a good second; and the buckskin cayuse could not possibly do so well as the Red Rover under the new training and lighter leather gear. Of course, the horse was not to be named until the day and hour of the race, but it was quite certain that the Indians would enter the Buckskin. Vague reports there were of a wonderful pinto that the Red men had somewhere in training; but the Crow spies could furnish no corroboration of the report; and, in any case, the shoeing of the Buckskin was a guarantee that the Indians meant to enter him.

From all of which there was but one logical conclusion. So the message went forth through the length and breadth of Dakota, "Come on, we've got a dead-sure thing. Come on, and bring all you can raise or borrow." It is wonderful, the faith of the racetrack gamblers in a tip! Their belief in the "hunch" is blind and absolute; hope never dies on the racetrack, even though, once in a while, it goes into a very deathlike swoon.

Not merely Dakota responded to the chances of the coming race, but Wyoming, Minnesota, Iowa, Nebraska, yes, even Illinois. And Cedar Mountain post office began to have hopes of stepping up to a higher round on the official scale, as the mail matter, registered and special, poured in. Letters postmarked "Deadwood" came by the score; others from Minneapolis and St. Paul were abundant; while, of course, there was the usual grist from Custer City, Bismarck, Pierre, Sidney, Cheyenne, and Denver. John and Hannah Higginbotham could not, owing to John's position as Church deacon, take an active part in the gambling; but they invented a scheme of insurance on a 50 per cent. premium basis which was within the Church law, though, when translated into terms of the track, it was merely a two-to-one bet on the field.

The autumn race had played havoc with so many savings funds and so much actual cash in business that a great number of those badly hit had vowed that they would never again go in; and they clung to their new resolve through May and most of June. But, as the training went on and the talk went around, and other men went in—all the wise ones, horse-wise, talk-wise, and otherwise—the subtle fascination grew and, a month before the race, the same old madness glamoured every mind; the same old guiding star—so often proved a spook-fire, but this time surely a star—was leading, hypnotizing, shining just ahead. The racing men once obsessed, the world of half-way interest followed even faster, till near the end of June, except for a few immune from principle or poverty, the whole community of South and West Dakota had but one talk—the race, and what they risked or hoped to make on it.

One must remember that the West has always been the land of boom. It is filled with the energetic and enterprising who, by a natural process, are selected from the peoples of the East; and the stuff such booms feed on, grow on, and grow mighty on as they feed, is Hope. Every Westerner knows that the land is full of possibility, opportunity—free, equal opportunity multiplied; and he hopes that his name will be the next one called by fortune. To respond to the call at whatever cost—to be ready to respond—that is the condition of life worth while. A dozen bad defeats are passing trifles if the glad call only comes and one fail not to rise to it. So it is ever easy in a land of such undaunted souls to start a boom. Hope never dies in the West.

Reader, I have ridden the Plains and seen many a settler living with his family in one small, dirty room, constructed out of sods with a black dirt roof, and dirt and dust on everything, on every side. I have seen them with little food, pinched and sick and struggling with poverty and famine. I have seen them in every dreadful circumstance of want and wasting pain that could be named in the sum of horrors of the vilest Eastern slum: and yet they made no bid for sympathy or help, or for a moment lost their pride; for one great fundamental difference there was between them and the slummers of the East: the prairie pioneer is filled with hope! Hope gleams in his eye; he lives in a land of hope; he was lured to the West by the blazing star of bright new Hope; just on a little way it shines for him; and every sod upturned and every posthole sunk, or seed put in, is turned or sunk or sown in the light of strong, unfading hope. Just a little while, a few short months, maybe, and he believes, he knows his name will be the next one called.

O land of hope, land of the shining four-rayed star, long, long may you remain the world's great vale of youth, where none grow old at heart or pray for death, for none can ever wholly lose their glimpse of that beckoning hope. The fountain of eternal youth springs up and gushes 'neath no other light.

O star of Hope! O blessed Lodestar of the soul! Long, long, yes, ages long may you be there, swung in the sky for all the world to see and know that while they live and will, there gleams a God-lit beacon in the West, the light of the land of hope.



CHAPTER XXXVIII

When the Craze Struck

"Brethren and sisters," said Dr. Jebb, in the Wednesday meeting established for general discussion, "I consider it my duty to speak openly and officially in condemnation of this outbreak of the fearful, soul-destroying vice of gambling that is sweeping over the land, over the country, over the town, I might almost say over this congregation. Never, in all my experience, has this inclination run so riotously insane. Not men of the world merely, but members of the Church; and the women and little children who can barely lisp the shameful word, are betting on the race."

The reverend doctor had much more to say in fierce denunciation, but Hartigan, while regretting the sinfulness of the habit, pointed out that this was a land of few pleasures and a land of horses; and if, as was natural, they sought to get their pleasure out of their horses, then surely Dr. Jebb would not consign them all to hell for it, but take a view more in line with the Christian charity of the Church.

Deacon Higginbotham rose to expound his theory of risk. Every man who took a risk of profit or loss was gambling; and everybody did it, so all were gambling, every one. "Now, see, we have a fire insurance risk on the this church, which means the church is gambling against Providence. So, clearly, the gambling itself is not a sin, it is the accessories of gambling that make for evil. For example, if we gamble with cards, sitting up all night in a stuffy room, drinking bad drinks, smoking bad smokes, speaking bad words, neglecting our business, neglecting our morals, hurting our health—then these things are bad. But, if we gamble out in the sunlight, on a beautiful prairie, on beautiful horses—now please don't mistake me; I'm not betting on the race——"

Here Hannah pulled his coat tail and he sat down. The fact of the matter was, he had issued a number of insurance policies on the race, and was quite ready to issue any number more.

It was well known that Dr. Jebb had invested his little savings in Deadwood town plots; and when Dr. Carson rose and asked if any one present had ever risked money on a probable rise in town plots—gambled, in fact, on the chances of a boom—Dr. Jebb turned scarlet and Dr. Carson laughed outright. Whereupon the Rev. James Hartigan whispered to the Rev. Dr. Jebb, who nodded; and the Reverend James, standing up, said: "Let us close the meeting with prayer."

If the Church—with all its immunities, safeguards, antitoxins, influences, warnings, prophylactics, creeds, vows, exposures, denunciations, traditions, and holy leaders—should become infected with aggressive interest in the speed contest to the extent of outward and visible material risk, what was likely to be the condition of the ungodly? It is said that the real estate boom of Minneapolis and the gold craze of Deadwood were psychological trivialities compared with the sudden great boom in betting that set in during the last week of June at the Black Hills; and the only reason why the wagering cataclysm was less disastrous than it threatened to be was because it ended quickly.

Fifty thousand dollars of treaty money was in the hands of Red Cloud and his people; fifty thousand more went to the Cheyennes under Howling Bull. The ranchmen were ready with an equal sum, and Fort Ryan was not far behind. By noon the fifty thousand dollars had been distributed to the Indians; by one o'clock every cent of it was put up on the race in equal bets. Who was to be stake holder? How much was each stake to be held or awarded? These were problems of some intricacy in view of the fact that the Indians could not read a word or trust any white man except the Indian Agent and Father Cyprian, the Jesuit missionary, both of whom declined to have any hand or part in the matter.

The plan devised by Red Cloud and accepted by the whites was as follows: every pair of stakes was tied together and marked with two names, the white man's and the Indian's—the latter's mark or totem being used. They then were piled up in a lone tepee, half way between the Fort and the Indian camp, and the tepee put under guard of an Indian and a white soldier. The understanding was that as soon as the race was over the winners should take possession of the lodge and distribute the contents among themselves, as indicated by the marks.

There was nearly one hundred thousand dollars in cash piled up in that Indian lodge in twin bunches. Of course, it was easy to arrange the money that way, and possible to make bundles of robes, bridles, beadwork, buckskin, pemmican, and weapons. It was even practical to pair off ploughs and bureaux; but the difficulties became huge and complex when horse was wagered against horse, or cow against cow, and even more so when cow was put up against horse; for, obviously, they could not be laid away in pairs, pending the decision; so that an elaborate sort of tally stick was instituted with some success, but even so a number of disputes ensued.

There was not a trooper who did not wager all the cash he had or could by any means get. There was not an officer who was not dragged in by the growing power of the craze. And daily, parties of Indians came to the Fort to put up cash, or peer around to get a glimpse of the horses. The whites made no attempt this time to spy on the Indians—their last experience had not been very encouraging. Anyway, why should they? They had all the cards in their hands. The shoeing of the Buckskin, the known importation of oats and timothy, the absence of reliable proof that the Indians had any other horse, were conclusive on that side; and on their own, the Rover could beat the Buckskin, even as Blazing Star could beat Rover; so, allowing for an accident, they had two winning horses to choose from.

John Higginbotham, who represented the bankers of the little wooden Bank of Cedar Mountain, had to send to Deadwood for a fresh supply of mortgage blanks, an assistant inspector of risks, and all the cash they could spare for the present need. Colonel Waller began to take alarm. The men were mortgaging their pay for months ahead, although many were still in debt from the autumn before. One young officer whose pay was pledged for a year in advance did not hesitate to pledge for the following year, so sure was he.

As early as the middle of June, the long lines of mounted men with prairie schooners were seen crawling over the plain to northward and eastward, while down the mountain roads came Indian bands in ever-growing numbers. The authorities might well have taken alarm but for the fact that the gathering was to be at Fort Ryan where there were ample troops to deal with any possible situation. Then over the hills from the south came Red Cloud with all his clan, and many more besides. Mounted men in hundreds, with travois and different kinds of carts, carrying tepees, provisions, household goods, and with them—straggling off or driven by the mounted boys—were herds of prairie ponies, in scores or even hundreds, the Red men's real wealth, brought now to stake, they fondly hoped, against the horses of the regiment at Fort Ryan. On the old camp ground by the river below the Fort, the Indians pitched their village, and every day came others of their race to set up lodges, and add to the lively scene. On the other side was a growing canvas town of whites with every kind of sharper and blackleg that the surrounding settlements could contribute from their abundant shady population.

Prominent among the visitors at Fort Ryan was the Indian Commissioner, with the local agent as his assistant. He opened a temporary office in the barracks, and the morning of his arrival many a lively scene took place as gorgeously dressed bucks, with wives and interpreter, gathered there to receive their treaty money. Although the Colonel was careful to exclude all liquor dealers and known sharpers from the Fort during the issue of the cash, he could not exclude them from the Dakota prairie, and they were hanging about everywhere with their unholy wares and methods. Firewater was, of course, the most dangerous snare; but a great deal of trick robbery was carried on with gaudy knick-knacks for which unbelievable prices were asked and got. The Indians might have parted with all their cash on that morning but for the need they felt of having it to cover their bets on the race.

Red Cloud and his counsellors had been many times to Colonel Waller's house. They had come with money bets, they had come with promises, and now they came with horses, eager to bet horse against horse for the mounts of all the regiment. The Indian chief did not understand the Colonel's refusal until he was told that a mythical Great High Chief named Unca-Sam was the owner of the cavalry mounts—that though Unca-Sam was over a hundred years old, he was a young man yet and knew all that was done in the West. Then it slowly dawned on Red Cloud that these men were riding horses that did not belong to them; he despised them for it, but his Indian honesty made him see how impossible it was to bet the horses that they did not own. However, he managed to stake a throng of ponies against the cattle of the ranchers, and thus the wealth of one side was staked against that of the other.

Next morning saw many wagons come to the Fort, with squaws beside their Indian drivers. They stopped at the Colonel's house, the covers were removed, and great piles of beadwork, coats, leggings, moccasins, baskets, war-clubs, and other characteristic things of Indian work were revealed. It was made clear that these were offered as stakes; would the whites match up the goods? In a spirit of fun, at first, the women of the Fort, as well as the men, began offering household goods or personal gear; a frying pan against a baby-bag, a pair of corsets against a medicine flute, a bureau against a war bonnet. Then, bitten by the craze, they kept on till everything was matched and all the goods tied up in bundles, according to the established custom, to lie in the big, special tepee under guard.

Another band of Red men followed with some tepees that they offered against government tents and, on being refused, finally wagered them against provender and hay. Each day there were new offers as groups of Indians came to the Fort, so that as soon as an Indian outfit on wheels came slowly up, it was quite understood that it was bringing new material to put up on the race. It was toward the end of the time that Red Cloud and his retinue came again, riding in much solemnity. Ignoring all others, he went to Colonel Waller's house and, in his usual deliberate way, after smoking, he began:

"Maybe so, you bet big?"

"Yes, indeed," was Waller's answer.

"Good. We bet all Dakota. You bet United States. Maybe so—yes?"

"No, no," laughed the Colonel.

"You win, we go away out west. We win, you all go back east. Maybe so—yes?"

"No," said the Colonel. "I am only a little chief. The Great High Chief, Unca-Sam, would not allow it."

Red Cloud smoked a while, then resumed:

"Heap afraid, maybe so?" Then, after a pause, "We bet Pine Ridge, you bet Fort Ryan—yes?"

Again the Colonel had to protest that only the Great Father Unca-Sam could deal in such matters; and Red Cloud grunted, "Heap scared," made a gesture of impatience, and rode away.



CHAPTER XXXIX

Jim's Bet

Jim Hartigan had as little interest in money as any Indian. All the things he loved and the pleasures he sought were the things that money could not buy. He wanted to ride and race, be alive, to love and be loved, to get the noblest animal joys, and soar a little—just a little—in the realm of higher things. Money as a power had not been listed in his mind, till a chance remark from Belle gave a wholly different trend to his thoughts.

"Jim, if I had about a thousand dollars, I think I'd be tempted to risk it. I'd go to Deadwood and start a produce commission business there."

That was all she said, and it was spoken lightly, but her words sank deep in Hartigan's mind.

"A thousand dollars might, after all, spell heaven"; and he pondered it long and hard. As mere business, it would not have held his thought an hour; but as a way to bring the happy time more near, it filled his mind for days, but he told her nothing of it. It was in the blacksmith shop that the next step was suggested. John Higginbotham had the floor; as he entered, Jim heard him say to some one in the crowd:

"I'm no betting man. As a deacon of the Church, I cannot countenance betting. As an insurance agent, however, I am quite ready, in all fairness, to negotiate your risk. You simply take out a policy on the—ah—event, reflecting your judgment of the probabilities You pay your premium—100 per cent, or whatever it is—and I, as your agent, place this risk with some established company, or responsible person sufficiently furnished with capital, to assume the liability. Then, as in the case of fire, or marine, or other insurance, the event decides the issue, and the insured draws his insurance in accordance with the terms, less the modest 5 per cent, that I receive for my perfectly legitimate trouble and expense."

Jim had never seen it in that light before; he rather liked the idea. After all, he was heart and soul in the race His joy in Blazing Star was hardly less than it had been; and why not manifest it in a way which held in it the possibilities of the wealth he needed? Why not take out an insurance policy on Blazing Star's winning? He thought of it more and more, and a few days later when he was depressed for once, Belle out of town, and the gloomy prospect of college before him, he drew his precious five hundred dollars from the bank and took it to John Higginbotham to deposit as his premium on insurance that the white men's horse would win the race. He had a feeling that Belle would not approve. But he did not tell her about it, for he wanted to surprise her when he should walk proudly up and put in her hand the one thousand dollars that would surely be his. He felt sure, but not happy; his judgment said "go ahead"; his instincts called a halt; but he went ahead.

Next day he went to Higginbotham. Hannah was there and a look from the deacon kept the Preacher quiet on the matter. When a chance came, the former said: "'Tain't so easy now, Jim. Every one knows the white men's horse is going to win, and there are no more even takers. I'm afraid the best I can do is offer you a two hundred and fifty dollar insurance with a five hundred dollar premium down, and your premium back, of course, if you collect the insurance, less my regular commission."

"All right," said Jim, a little disappointed "let it go at that," and away he went.

Hannah did not usually take a daily part in the office unless John was away; but something about Hartigan's visit prompted her to look more keenly through the books. It was her first knowledge of the new kind of "insurance" and she and John talked it out.

"All the companies are doing it now. It's no risk for us. We'll get over two thousand dollars in commissions anyhow." But Hannah was not content. She went over every item and presently she came on Hartigan's five hundred, offered two to one.

"Humph!" she said, "does Belle know about this insurance business?"

"I don't know," said John uneasily.

"She ought to know."

"If she makes him withdraw, we lose our 5 per cent.," said John, knowing quite well that that would hit Hannah very hard.

"I don't care," said Hannah, "I'm going to tell her."

It gave Belle a decided shock. It also explained to her Jim's peculiar behaviour during the last two days. Here was where his horse mania was leading him. She was not deceived by the glib terms of "insurance," nor as to the certainty of scandal, but she did not know what to do. Her first impulse was to go direct to him; and yet, that would put her in the position of a spy with a charge of treachery. No, that would be stupid. It was such an assumption of mastery, and such an exposure of Hannah's business impropriety as well that she hesitated; then, in a flash, she said:

"Hannah, I have two hundred and fifty dollars of my chicken money in the bank; I was saving it for something very different. I'll take that 'insurance.' But not a word at present of who it was that took it. If you must give a name, say his insurance was taken up by 'Two Strikes.'" And in her heart she thought: "It is not my road; it is not a good road; but it is his road, and I'll take it till I bring him back."



CHAPTER XL

The Crow Band

Even far Montana heard the news, and, winding through the hills, there came one day a band of Crows from their reservation on the Big Horn. They came with only their light travelling tepees; and the intense dislike in which they are held by the Sioux and Cheyennes was shown in the fact that they camped far away in a group by themselves.

The Crows are noted for their beautiful lodges and their inveterate habit of horse stealing. They also have this unique fact on their record—that they have never been at war with the whites. They will steal a white man's horses fast enough, but they have never tried to take a white scalp. Their party consisted chiefly of men and a few surplus horses. But for the lodges and a few women, it might have passed for a war party.

The Crows are among the numerous claimants of the title "best horsemen in the world." If reckless riding in dangerous places without being thrown is good ground for the claim, then is the claim good; and it becomes yet stronger in view of the fact that most of their riding is barebacked. When they came to the Fort that day it was as though they were riding for their lives. They were but a score and were admitted without question. They paid their respects to Colonel Waller and then, after smoking, announced that they had money and goods to bet on the race. They were disappointed to find how much too late they were; everything was already up. So they rode away.

They did not go near the Sioux and Cheyenne camp; not that there was much danger of their suffering bodily harm, but they had been unmistakably informed that they were not welcome, though the action went no further than ignoring them. Next morning, when Blazing Star and Red Rover were doing their turn, there were no keener onlookers than the Crows. By look and grunted word they showed their appreciation of the noble brutes.

The Chief came to the Fort to find out if the Colonel would sell Blazing Star after the race.

"We give twenty horses," and he held up both hands twice.

"No."

"Three hands ponies," and they held up both hands spread three times.

"No, he is not for sale."

Late that day Red Cloud and Howling Bull came to Colonel Waller and, after preliminaries, conveyed the information and warning: "All Crows heap big thief. You watch him; he steal horse every time, heap no good."

The third of July came, and the plain looked like a city of tents. Many traders were there to open temporary stores; and it is doubtful if any single race in the Western world has attracted more people or created intenser interest. The Cheyennes gave a great dance in honour of the Sun. They invited all the Sioux to come, and the whites invited themselves. Belle and Jim were there and saw much to please and much to disgust them. The general impression was one of barbaric splendour, weird chanting, noisy tom-toms, and hypnotic pulsation. It was mostly repellent, but sometimes the rhythm stirred them, and provoked a response which showed that the wild musicians were playing on instincts and impulses that are as wide as humanity.

Most horsemen like to keep their training ground in some sort private; but the garrison had given up all attempts at that, so far as Blazing Star and Red Rover were concerned. Every one knew, every one was interested, and each day there was an eager crowd waiting to feast their eyes on the two splendid racers. And they were well worth it. Even Jim had to acknowledge that Blazing Star was looking better now than ever before.

"Look at that neck, Belle, see how it arches, see the clean limbs; isn't he trained to perfection? If I only—if——" then he stopped himself.

As he fondly watched the horse with glowing eyes, he said: "Of course, we don't know anything at all about where or how he was bred, but I should say that that is a blood Kentucky, nearly pure—Kentucky gold dust."

Among the spectators were the two Indian Chiefs in their warpaint—Red Cloud of the Sioux, and Howling Bull of the Cheyennes. They spoke little to each other, for neither knew the other's tongue; but they made little gestures of the sign language, and any keen observer knowing it could catch the ideo-signs: "Good, good; by and by; we see good race; brave, swift," and so on. Later: "Yes, after one sleep. Rain heap, yes."

Jim watched them closely. "See that, Belle? he says: 'To-morrow it rain heap,' I wonder how he knows. They call the Fourth of July the Big Wet Sunday, because it usually rains then. I wonder how it will affect the race."

"Jim, you said they had shod the buckskin cayuse in expectation of a wet track."

"Yes; that's a mystery; how can they tell? The air is full of rumours, anyway. Chamreau says that Red Cloud has been seeking everywhere for fast horses. He had a man go as far as Omaha and another to Denver. Some say he did pick up a racer, a half-blooded Kentucky—some that he had got a wonderful pinto cayuse from Cheyenne; this latter is the more persistent rumour, though Chamreau says he can't find any one who has actually seen one or the other. Anyhow, no one knows what their entry will be. We have a pretty good idea of ours"; and Hartigan smiled proudly.

The two chiefs, with their followers, conversed earnestly, and with much gesture. They looked and pointed at the Crow camp and the rain sign came in many times, and emphatically. The old feud between the Sioux and the Crows had broken out afresh in a trader's store. Two young men from the opposing camps had quarrelled. They had drawn their knives, and each had been wounded. These things were common talk, and Belle and Jim watched the two chiefs ride toward the Crow camp with an eager curiosity to know more about it. When the Red men were a mile away and within half a mile of the Crow village, they followed at a good pace and reached the tepees in the secluded corner in time to see the two visiting chiefs making an address mainly by signs, as they sat on their horses. Chamreau was there, and in answer to Jim's question translated Red Cloud's address to the Crows thus: