CHAPTER SEVEN
_Wild Ride_
Nimble-footed as a deer, the roan pony Cindy rode responded instantly tothe lightest touch of the reins. Cindy leaned forward in the saddle,giving all her attention to the task at hand and driven by just onethought. Her father must have his gun. Without it, he might run afoul ofvery grave danger.
She peered through the haze of dust that had been churned up bythousands of pounding feet ahead, and tried to see the pair she sought.They were nowhere in sight, and she hadn't the faintest idea in whichdirection they were going. But she must find them.
In the first few minutes, the Run was taking more definitely the onlypattern it could have. The horsemen were surging ahead with, naturally,the best riders on the fastest mounts in the lead. Next came the wagonsand carts, and last a horde of running people.
Cindy was among the people. She could not let the pony have his fullspeed because, if she did, she would knock somebody down. She wonderedfleetingly where all the men had come from. There hadn't seemed to benearly that many, but they were here now. Seeing an opening, she touchedSparkle with her heels, and he shot through the crowd.
For twenty yards she had clear riding, but ahead were more people. One,a burly man in a red shirt, heard hoofbeats behind him and looked overhis shoulder. He turned, stopped, and when Sparkle came near he leapedat the pony's head.
"Give me that horse, boy!" he roared.
Cindy's heart caught in her throat, but Sparkle was true to histraining. Frightened by the man's leap, he still obeyed the rein andswerved around him so closely that Cindy's leg brushed the man's shirt.As she rode on, she had time for a chuckle.
The burly man had thought she was a boy. Nobody expected to find a girlriding in this, the greatest and most exciting race in history. However,now that she had prevented one attempt to take her pony, she hadconfidence that she could foil others.
Riding expertly, she watched for open spaces through which she couldguide Sparkle. Soon she drew ahead of most of the running men. Only theswiftest were in front of her now, and they were scattered. A lean manwith a pack on his back was running desperately. Even as Cindy watched,he let his pack fall to the ground. Relieved of its weight, he ran alittle faster, and when Cindy flashed past he yelled:
"Oklahoma! Yip-pee!"
Twenty yards farther on, a big man who was one of the leaders cast ananxious glance back over his shoulder. The man's face wassweat-streaked, and sweat-damp hair clung tightly to his head. Hecontinued to run, peeling off his shirt as he did so, and when the shirtwas in his hands he stopped running and threw it on the ground. Cindyknew he did so to mark this claim as his own.
"My claim!" he bellowed in a voice like a bull's. "My claim! Ever'bodystay off my claim!"
When Cindy rode past he was still shouting. She risked a single backwardglance to see the man who had staked his claim in a furious fist fightwith the man who had thrown his pack away. Nobody stopped to watch thebattle.
Cindy slackened the reins, touched Sparkle with her heels, and saidsoftly to the pony, "Come on, Sparkle!"
He shot ahead like a coursing greyhound, and Cindy's heart began tosing. This was how she had felt when she had dreamed of riding intoOklahoma. Sparkle was not a horse but a bird, and at long last Cindyknew what it was to fly. She flew past the foremost of the running menand caught up with the slowest wagons. She drew abreast of the first, aheavy wagon pulled by four little horses.
His hair flying in the wind, a man stood on the seat with the reins inone hand and plying a whip with the other. He seemed in danger offalling off at any second. Nevertheless he leaned far forward, as thoughby simply pointing himself at Oklahoma he could make the horses runfaster. But they were already doing their best and had no more speed tooffer. Cindy passed a man whose horse had fallen.
The horse, a nice-looking sorrel, was down in the hindquarters and up inthe front. The man--and judging by his brightly checked suit and derbyhat, he was a city man--was trying to make the horse get to his feet bypulling on the reins. But either the horse had been hurt by inexpertriding and couldn't get up, or he was stubborn and wouldn't. Cindy rodeon, at last understanding why Pete had refused to rent his ponies andher father his mules, even for the fabulous sum of fifty dollars. Fartoo many of the people riding in this great Run knew nothing abouthandling horses. Cindy drew up on the next wagon.
It was one she did not recognize, but the man driving it was a horseman.Instead of urging his beasts to their fullest speed, he was holding themin. Cindy applauded mentally. That man's horses might not be fresh, butthey would be ready for one final spurt when many of the others werehopelessly exhausted. Cindy drew up on the next wagon.
She was pleased to see that it belonged to the family who had been "out"in so many places and must make out in Oklahoma. She hoped they'd get aclaim, but as she passed, one of the horses began to stumble. Cindychoked back a sob. She could not stop and offer help because, above all,she must take the gun to her father.
Doing somewhat better than anyone except himself had thought he could,the man with the bicycle was ahead of all the wagons and pedalingfuriously forward. Beside him, elbows flying like a bird's wings, andkicking both heels constantly into his mount's ribs, was the old manwith the sorry-looking mule.
Only the very fast were ahead of her now. Sparkle, fleet-footed andlong-winded, had the additional advantage of carrying probably thelightest rider in the Run. Far from faltering, he had reserves of speedand strength. Cindy held him in. She might need those reserves.
She began to worry. Where were her father and Pete Brent? The better tosee, she rose in the stirups. She saw scattered horsemen when she arose,but not the two she wanted. Cindy looked back at the onrushing crowd andfor a moment wished she could go back. She dared not. Her father musthave his gun.
The two men who appeared before her did so so unexpectedly that it wasas though they had sprouted from the earth itself. Twenty feet apart,they stretched a rope between them. Almost certainly, they wanted tostop her and take Sparkle.
Cindy measured the shoulder-high rope with her eye as she rushed towardit. Coming near, she drew Sparkle up, and the roan pony cleared the ropewith inches to spare.
"Stop, you!" one of the men roared.
No longer worried, Cindy flew on. While Sparkle was in the air, she hadseen what she'd been unable to see before. There were very few horsemenahead of her, but one of the horses had a tail that flashed pure white.It had to be Sunshine. Cindy let Sparkle run as fast as he could.
She mounted a little rise and discovered she had not made a mistake.Very plainly she saw her father and Pete. The only rider leading themwas the lean man with the race horse, and he was in trouble. The horsehad run a gallant race but had already given his best. Now he wasfaltering, and the lean man was beating him savagely with a quirt.
The horse stopped and stood with heaving sides and hanging head. Therider leaped off, threw his coat down, drew a gun, and turned to faceJed Simpson and Pete Brent. Cindy let Sparkle run until he was verynear, then drew him to a walk. The thick grass muffled Sparkle'shoofbeats. Fully occupied with Jed and Pete, the man did not take hiseyes from them.
"Go back!" Cindy heard him say. "Go back or I shoot! This is my claim! Istaked it with my coat!"
"We don't want it," Pete said. "We're going farther on."
"I know your kind!" said the bearded man. "You're claim jumpers! Go backor I shoot!"
_"Go back or I shoot!" he said_]
Cindy halted Sparkle. She drew her father's big revolver from itsholster, steadied it across the saddle horn, and pointed it at thebearded man.
"You won't shoot anybody!" she said. "Drop your gun, or I'll shoot you!"
The bearded man looked startled. Then, very unwillingly, he let his gunfall. Mr. Simpson whirled.
"Cindy!" he gasped.
"You forgot your gun," Cindy called. "I brought it to you."
Pete slid his own gun from its holster and covered the bearded man.
"You can give your
father his gun, Cindy," he said grimly. "This yahoowon't move."
"Oh, good!" Cindy breathed. "I don't know how to shoot anyhow."
She rode up to her father, handed him his gun, and Mr. Simpson buckledit about his waist. Pete Brent spoke sternly to the bearded man. "Wedon't want your claim, but if you feel like fighting, pick up your gunand go to it!"
"I thought you was claim jumpers!" the man said tremulously. "I rode along an' hard piece to get me some land in Oklahoma."
"So did a lot of other people, and many of them will ride for nothing.Be careful who you're pulling a gun on after this!"
"I'm sorry," the bearded man said humbly.
"Cindy!" her father said. "You _can't_ be here!"
"But I am here," Cindy pointed out.
"I'll have to take you back."
"If you do," Pete warned, "somebody else will stake your claim."
"Let me stay!" Cindy pleaded. "Let me stay, Dad! I won't be in the way,and maybe I can help!"
Her father said uncertainly, "It's no place for a girl."
"Please!" Cindy begged.
"It looks," Pete grinned, "as though we're three homesteaders instead oftwo."
We Were There at the Oklahoma Land Run Page 7
