CHAPTER XVI
THE SWEEPSTAKES
The Clagstone "Six" was parked, Friday afternoon, in its usual placenear the east end of the grandstand and close to the entrance to thetrack. Old Heck and Ophelia were alone in the car. Carolyn June andSkinny, on Pie Face and Red John, watched the afternoon program from the"inside field" across the race track. Parker and the Quarter Circle KTcowboys were also mounted on their horses and in the field opposite thegrandstand.
Never had there been such a jam at a Rodeo held in Eagle Butte.
The two-mile sweepstakes, itself the "cow-man's classic" and the greatderby event of western Texas, always drew record crowds the day on whichit was run.
This Friday the grandstand creaked under its load of humanity.
The racing feud between the Quarter Circle KT and the Y-Bar and thethousands of dollars Old Heck and Dorsey were known to have bet on theirrespective favorites acted as tinder on the flame of public interest inthe big event.
Thunderbolt had a great reputation. Last year, and the year before, hehad mastered the field of runners put against him.
The Gold Dust maverick--named in the race "Ophelia"--was a wonder horsein the minds of the people of western Texas who had heard of thebeautiful, almost super-creature, that had tormented, with her speed andendurance, the riders of the Cimarron and now at last was caught, and tobe ridden in the sweepstakes, by the Ramblin' Kid.
At two-forty a special exhibition of "Cossack Riding"--participated inby Lute Larsen, of Idaho; Jack Haines, from Texas, and Curly Piper, aColorado cowboy, finished in front of the grandstand.
The announcer trained his megaphone on the vast crowd:
"The next event," he bellowed, "two-mile sweepstakes! Purse one thousanddollars! Five entries! Naming them in their order from the pole:Thunderbolt, black Y-Bar stallion, Flip Williams, rider; Say-So, roangelding, from the Pecos River, Box-V outfit, Jess Curtis, rider;Ophelia, Gold Dust filly, the Cimarron outlaw from the Quarter CircleKT, th' Ramblin' Kid, rider; Prince John, sorrel gelding, from Dallas,Texas, 'Snow' Johnson, rider; Dash-Away, bay mare, from Jackson Hole,Wyoming, Slim Tucker, rider. Race called at three o'clock sharp! Horsefailing to score on the dot will be ruled out! Range saddles to be used.Entries for the two-mile sweepstakes will show at once on the track!"
Dead silence ensued during the announcer's drawling oration.
It was followed by the hum of five thousand voices as they chattered ineager expectancy.
The band crashed out _Dixie_ and a medley of southern melodies.
Chuck and Bert reined their bronchos up to Parker.
"We're going over and see how th' Ramblin' Kid is making it," Chucksaid. "He might need that filly herded a little to get her through thisjam." And they galloped their horses across the track toward thestables.
Carolyn June and Skinny decided to watch the sweepstakes from the car,with Old Heck and Ophelia. They rode Pie Face and Red John over to theClagstone "Six." Carolyn June dismounted and stepped up on therunning-board of the car, holding Red John loosely by the bridle rein.
"Gee," she laughed, "but I'm nervous!"
Old Heck reached over and patted her hand.
"Wait till they start to run before you get hysterical," he chuckled."There'll be time enough then for excitement!" One could never havetold, by his actions, that within the next few moments he would lose orwin fifty thousand dollars.
Chuck pulled Silver Tip to a stop in front of the stall where CaptainJack and the Gold Dust maverick were standing.
"They're getting ready for the sweepstakes!" he called, thinking theRamblin' Kid was in the compartment with the horses. "You'd better beputting your rigging on the filly," as he slid from his broncho andstepped to the door of the stall.
There was no answer. He peered into the half-gloom of the place.
It was empty save for the two horses.
"That's funny as thunder," he said, puzzled, to Bert. "Where'd youreckon th' Ramblin' Kid is?"
"Darned if I know--ain't he there?" Bert answered, riding up so he couldlook into the door.
"Look around a little," Chuck said anxiously. "Maybe he's just steppedaway for a minute--Hey!" he called to an attendant of a stall a shortdistance down the stable street, "have you seen anything of th' Ramblin'Kid--the feller that has these horses?"
"Naw," was the careless answer, "I ain't seen him for two hours."
"Something must be wrong!" Chuck exclaimed. "You stay here and watch!I'll go see Old Heck--maybe he knows where he is."
"Hell, yes!" Bert said as the other started Silver Tip in a run towardwhere the Clagstone "Six" was parked. "He's got to be found! Nobody elsebut him can ride the maverick!"
At the car, before his horse was fairly stopped, Chuck leaned over andasked, tensely:
"Have any of you people seen th' Ramblin' Kid?"
Old Heck straightened up.
"Ain't he at the stables?" he inquired uneasily. "He was there thismorning--"
"No," Chuck replied hurriedly, "he's been gone two hours!"
"Good lord," Old Heck exclaimed, "he's got to be found! The race startsin ten minutes."
"And nobody but him can ride the filly!" Skinny interrupted. "I wonderif he's--" he started to say "drunk," but stopped as Carolyn June lookedquickly at him. The word was in both their minds.
"It ain't natural!" Old Heck cried; "there must be something dirty! Youboys go look for him; I'll, keep my eyes open here!"
As Old Heck said "dirty" the picture of Mike Sabota flashed into CarolynJune's mind. Some intuition seemed to couple, in her innerconsciousness, the big Greek with the Ramblin' Kid's disappearance.
The horses for the two-mile sweepstakes were already beginning to comeon to the track. Flip Williams was walking Thunderbolt up and down infront of the grandstand, trying to keep the high-spirited stallion quietuntil time came to mount; the rider of Say-So was doing the same thingwith his entry; Slim Tucker was already sitting on Dash-Away, the trimWyoming mare standing unruffled near the starting line, while SnowJohnson, like Tucker, already on his mount, was circling Prince John inwide loops behind the others.
Carolyn June was stunned for a moment by the thought that had come intoher mind when the picture of the burly Greek flashed before her. Sheclenched her hands and her cheeks whitened.
"Come on, Skinny!" she said suddenly, stepping off the running-board ofthe car and swinging on to Red John, "we'll go help look for theRamblin' Kid!"
She whirled the big bay around the end of the grandstand and rode in afast gallop straight for the box stall, Skinny and Chuck following closebehind her. A quick resolution formed in her mind: "Nobody but theRamblin' Kid could ride the filly?"
_She could ride the mare_!
Even if the Ramblin' Kid was not found Sabota and his crowd should notbe allowed to win by dirty work--if dirty work had been done!
At the stall Carolyn June sprang from Red John.
Bert was nervously walking about, calling occasionally the name of themissing Quarter Circle KT cowboy.
"Have you found him?" Carolyn June asked as Skinny and Chuck came upbehind her.
"No," Bert answered glumly, "he ain't showed up yet! There ain't nosigns of him around here."
"What'll we do?" Skinny asked excitedly. "The race is almost ready tostart and--do you reckon you could ride the filly, Bert?" he finishedwith a gleam of hope.
"I doubt it, but, well, I'll try her--if Captain Jack'll let me get herout."
"You boys keep back!" Carolyn June interrupted, stepping to the door ofthe stall and opening it, "Captain Jack knows me and--I--I--think thefilly does, too--I can handle her--" as she stepped boldly inside thecompartment with the horses.
"Don't go in there!" Skinny cried, "Car--Carolyn June, they'll killyou!"
"You boys keep away!" she laughed. "And don't get the horses nervous!They won't hurt me!" she answered, going ahead toward the animals.
Captain Jack looked at her suspiciously an instant
"Jack-Boy--Jack-Boy!" she calle
d with a caress in her voice. "Careful!We're friends!" The attitude of the stallion changed instantly and themenace was gone from his eyes.
The Gold Dust maverick heard the voice and with a friendly little nickerrubbed her head against the outstretched hand.
In a corner was the Ramblin' Kid's saddle, bridle, blanket and wornleather chaps.
With a light pat of the outlaw filly's cheek Carolyn June turned andbegan quickly and deftly putting the riding gear on the beautiful mare.
* * * * *
For an hour and a half the Ramblin' Kid lay as he had fallen when hestarted to hand the coffee cup back to Gyp. Breathing heavily, his faceflushed, he was as one in the deep stupor of complete intoxication. Atlast he stirred uneasily. An unconscious groan came from his lips. Hiseyes opened. In them was a dazed, puzzled look. Where was he? He triedvainly to remember--the clean life, the iron constitution andyouth--aided perhaps by an indomitable subconscious will protestingagainst this something that had happened to him--were throwing off theeffects of the drug hours before an ordinary man would have regainedeven a hint of sensibility.
He stood up--reeling unsteadily. He was deathly sick. Lightning flashesof pain throbbed through his head. Waves of blackness rolled before hiseyes. Surges of numbness swept over his legs and arms. He tried hard toremember. There was something--what was it? Th'--th'--what th'hell?--_th' race_! That was it--th'--th'--th' sweepstakes! In an instantthe thought was gone. It kept beating back: _Th' sweepstakes--th'race_--What time was it? Had it been run? He staggered to the door. Itwas locked! His head was bursting. If he could only get over the nausea.He felt his knees start to give way. No! No! My God, he wouldn't giveup! He--oh, yes. _Th' race! Captain Jack--no--th'--th'--maverick--he hadto ride_--He must get out! There was a--a--window--sometimes they hadthem--in the back of the stalls. Maybe the hay was over it. He climbedon the bales. Behind them he could see the opening. God, he was weak!With the sweat of terrible nausea bursting from every pore of his bodyhe pulled the bales back. He fell over the bale on which he had beenlying. One hand brushed his hat which had fallen from his head.Mechanically, with stiff fingers, he picked it up and jammed it onagain. Then he climbed--crawled--over the hay and pitched forwardthrough the opening, in a limp heap, on the ground outside.
For a moment he lost consciousness completely again: _Th'--th' race--th'maverick! he mustn't forget_--
He fought his way to his feet and groped along back of the building--thestall--which way was it? Down there? No--the other way--
As Carolyn June tightened the rear cinch on the Gold Dust maverick andturned toward the door of the stall with: "Look out, boys--I'm comingout!" the Ramblin' Kid, clutching at the side of the building, reeledaround the corner of the stall. The cowboys saw him. He himself saw onlyblack shapes where their horses were.
"Good God!" Skinny cried, "he's drunk!"
Carolyn June heard Skinny's exclamation at the instant the Ramblin' Kid,catching at the half-open door, almost fell into the stall. His eyesstared with a dull, puzzled, unrecognizing vacancy first at Carolyn Juneand then the Gold Dust maverick. "_Who th' hell_--" he mumbled stiffly."What--th'--oh, yes--there's th' filly--_th'--th'--race_. Itmust--be--time. Th' mare's saddled! That's--that's--funny! I can'tremember. Th' race--th' sweepstakes--that's it--"
Reaching over he jerked the reins from the hand of Carolyn June.
"Who--who--get the--" came like the thick growl of a beast from histhroat. "You--you--can't ride--she'll--_she'll--kill--_"
Carolyn June shrank back as if she had been struck. She pressed herhands against her cheeks and stepped away with a look of horror anddisgust as the Ramblin' Kid backed out of the stall with the Gold Dustmaverick. Outside he fumbled grotesquely at the silky mane and climbedweakly into the saddle.
Chuck and Bert started toward him.
"Get--the--hell--" he snarled as he saw their horses--mere shadow shapesthey were to him--approach.
"Let him alone!" Skinny said. "He's drunk! You'll just scare the fillyand make her hurt him!"
The boys let him go.
With blanched cheeks Carolyn June mounted Red John and with Skinny, Bertand Chuck, rode back to the Clagstone "Six." Her heart was utterly sick.So this was it? It had come out--the brute--the beast that was in him!
They reached the car as the Ramblin' Kid, at the horse entrance, at theother end of the grandstand, came on the track with the Gold Dustmaverick.
Old Heck looked up when the group approached. He saw the agony inCarolyn June's eyes and started to speak.
"Th' Ramblin' Kid's drunk," Skinny said dully. "He showed up--yonder heis--" as the beautiful copper-tinted, chestnut filly appeared behind theother horses entered for the two-mile sweepstakes.
"Drunk?" Old Heck cried incredulously. "Are you sure?"
"Watch him!" Chuck said miserably.
The starter was standing with arm outstretched and flag ready to fall.The filly came down the track jumping nervously from side to side inshort springing leaps. The starter paused, watch in hand. A shout ofadmiration and wonder went up from the crowd as the splendid creaturedancing down the track was recognized. The next instant it was succeededby a cry of horror that rolled in a great wave from a thousand throats.
"Th' Ramblin' Kid is drunk! He's drunk--the mare will kill him!" as theysaw the slim rider weaving limply in the saddle, his head droppedforward as if he were utterly helpless.
"Rule that horse off the track!" Dorsey, who was standing with MikeSabota, in a box-seat just below the judges' stand, shouted as he sawthe Ramblin' Kid, even in his half-conscious condition, reining the GoldDust maverick with consummate skill into position, "her rider's drunk!"
The Ramblin' Kid heard the voice and--by some miracle of themind--recognized it, although his eyes, set and glassy, could not seethe speaker.
He turned his head in the direction from which the cry came andanswered, slowly measuring each word:
"Go--go--t' hell--you--you--_coyote_!"
The next instant the starter dropped the flag. As it went down the fillycrouched and reared straight into the air.
That one second gave the other horses the start.
Then the outlaw mare leaped forward directly behind Thunderbolt, runningagainst the inside rail. Say-So, the Pecos horse, jammed close to theside of the black stallion; Snow Johnson, rider of Prince John, pushedthe big sorrel ahead with his nose at the roan's tail; Dash-Away huggedagainst the heels of Prince John. The Gold Dust maverick was "pocketed!"
A breathless hush fell over the crowd in the grandstand after the firstmighty roar:
"They're off!"
Black devils of torture clutched the throat, the mind, the body of theRamblin' Kid. Streams of fire seemed to be flowing through his veins. Hecouldn't see--he was blind. "What th'--what th'--hell!" he muttered overand over. He was vaguely conscious of the thunder of hoofs aroundhim--under him. Dimly, black shadows were rushing along at his side. Hefought with all his will to master his faculties. Where was he? What wasit? Was it a--a--stampede? What? _Oh, yes, th' race--th'--th'--sweepstakes--that--that was it_--Over and over the fleeting flashes ofconsciousness kept throwing this one supreme idea on the mirror of hismind!
Not a word was spoken by any of the party at the Clagstone "Six" as thefive fastest horses ever on the Eagle Butte track swept past the cartoward the first quarter-turn of the course.
Carolyn June's face was as white as marble. Her breast heaved and fellas if it would burst. Dry-eyed, every nerve tense, she stared at thestraining racers. Unconsciously she gripped into hard knots of flesh andbone, both hands, while she bit at her underlip until a red drop ofblood started from the gash made in the tender skin by her teeth.
"_Drunk_!" she thought, "_drunk!_ Beastly drunk--and throwing away thegreatest race ever run on a Texas track!"
Old Heck sat impassive as though carved from stone and said nothing.
Ophelia nervously chewed at the finger of her glove while her eyesmoistened with sympathy and pity.
For the life of him Skinny could not keep from thinking of the fivehundred dollars he had bet with Sabota, on the race, and the number ofwhite shirts and purple ties he might have bought with the money!
Over in the track-field Parker, Charley and Pedro saw the start of therace and each swore softly and silently to himself.
Sing Pete, alone of the Quarter Circle KT crowd, in the jam of thegrandstand, stretched his neck and followed with inscrutable eyes theclose-bunched racers. The start had puzzled him, yet he murmuredhopefully:
"Maybe all samee Lamblin' Kid he beatee hell out of 'em yet!"
The loyal Chinese cook had wagered the savings of a dozen years on thespeed of the Gold Dust maverick's nimble legs and his faith in the"Lamblin' Kid."
A blanket might have covered the five horses as they swung around thefirst mile.
The speed-mad animals roared down the homestretch, finishing the firsthalf of the race in the almost identical position each had taken in thegetaway.
The Ramblin' Kid rode the mile more as an automaton than as a living,conscious human being. He had no memory of time, place, events--save forthe instants of rationality he forced his will to bring.
Gradually, though, his mind was clearing.
But which was it--the first half?--the last half? How long had they beenrunning? How many times had they gone around the track? He could notremember!
Down the straight stretch the racers came in a mighty whirlwind ofspeed.
"Thunderbolt is taking it!"
"The Y-Bar horse leads!"
"Th' black's got 'em!" roared from the throats of the crowd in thegrandstand and the mass of humanity crushing the railing along thetrack.
Dorsey and Sabota leaped to the edge of the box as the horses thunderedpast the judges' stand. The voice of the owner of Thunderbolt shriekedout in a hoarse bellow:
"Hold him to it, Flip! Keep your lead--you've got the filly!"
The Ramblin' Kid heard again--or thought he heard again--the voice ofthe Vermejo cattleman. He caught, as an echo, a note of triumph in it.It was like a tonic to his drug-numbed faculties.
Suddenly he saw clearly. He had just a glimpse of Sabota standing by theside of Dorsey. He understood. In a flash it all came to him. The firsthalf of the great sweepstakes race was behind them! Once more they wereto circle the track. The glistening black rump of Thunderbolt rose andfell just ahead of the Gold Dust maverick's nose--at her side, crowdingher against the rail, was another horse. Which one? It didn't matter!Back of it was another. He was "_pocketed_!" Hell, no wonder Thunderboltwas ahead of the outlaw mare!
Half-way around the quarter-turn he pulled the filly down.
She slackened ever so little. Thunderbolt--the horse at her side--all ofthem--shot ahead.
He was behind the bunch--clear of the field!
The crowd saw the filly dart to the right. It looked as though she wouldgo over the outside rail before the Ramblin' Kid swung her, in a greatarch, to the left clear of, but far behind, the other horses.
He was crazy! The Gold Dust maverick was getting the better of theRamblin' Kid. He had lost control of the wonderful mare!
So thought the thousands watching the drama on the track before them.
Away over, next to the outside fence, on the far side of the track, opennow before him for the long outfield stretch, the Rambling Kidstraightened the Gold Dust maverick out. The other racers were stillbunched against the inner rail--lengths ahead of the filly.
Leaning low on the neck of the maverick, the Ramblin' Kid began talking,for the first time, to the horse he rode.
"_Baby--Baby! Girl_!" he whispered incoherently almost. "_Go--go_--damn'em! _'Ophelia'_"--he laughed thickly, reeling in the saddle."_Hell_--_no--'Little--Little--Pink Garter!--that's--that's--_what y'are! Little--Pink--Garter_--" he repeated irrationally. "_That'sit--show 'em--damn 'em--show 'em what--what runnin'--what real runnin'is!_" fumbling caressingly at the mare's neck with hands numb and stiffand chuckling pitifully, insanely, while his face was drawn with agonynearly unendurable.
Then the Gold Dust maverick ran!
Never had ground flowed with such swiftness under the belly of a horseon a Texas track.
"Good God!" Skinny yelled, "looky yonder! He's passin' them! Th'Ramblin' Kid is passin' 'em!"
No one answered him.
His voice was drowned in the mighty roar that surged from five thousandthroats and rolled in waves of echoing and re-echoing sound across thefield.
"He's ridin' round 'em!"
"Th' Ramblin' Kid is goin' around them!"
"Great heavens! Look at that horse go!"
"She's a-flyin'! _She's a-flyin_'!"
The Gold Dust maverick closed the gap--she caught Dash-Away--sheevened up with Prince John--she left the big sorrel behind--she passedSay-So--nose to nose for a few rods she ran opposite the blackwonder--the Thunderbolt horse from the Vermejo.
Flip Williams, spurs raking the flanks of Dorsey's stallion, lookedaround.
The Ramblin' Kid leaned toward him:
"Hell--why--don't you--_make that--thing run_!" he sneered at the Y-Barrider.
The next instant the Gold Dust maverick's neck and shoulders showed inthe lead of the Y-Bar stallion.
At the turn for the home stretch the outlaw filly shot ahead of thewonderful black horse from the Vermejo, swung close to the inside rail,and like a flash of gold-brown darted down the track toward the wire.
The grandstand was turned into a madhouse of seething humanity. Theimmense crowd came to its feet roaring and shrieking with frenzy. Mensmashed their neighbors with clenched fists--not knowing or caring howhard or whom they struck--or that they themselves were being hit. Womenscreamed frantically, hysterically, tears streaming from thousands ofeyes because of sheer joy at the wonderful thing the Gold Dust maverickwas doing. Even the stolid Sing Pete was jumping up and down, shouting:
"_Come on--come on--Lamblin' Kid! Beat 'em--beatee hell out of 'em_!"
Full three lengths in the lead of the "unbeatable" Thunderbolt the GoldDust maverick flashed under the wire in front of the judges!
Dorsey, shaken in every nerve, lips blue as though he were stricken witha chill, reeled out of the box from which he had watched his wholefortune swept away by the speed of the Cimarron mare. At his side,profaning horrible, obscene oaths staggered Mike Sabota.
Old Heck, white-faced, but his lips drawn in a smile of satisfaction,stood up in the Clagstone "Six" and watched the Ramblin' Kid--his eyesset and staring, his body twitching convulsively, check the filly, swingher around, ride back to the judges' stand, weakly fling up a hand insalute and then, barely able to sit in the saddle, rein the Gold Dustmaverick off the track and ride toward the box stall.
Skinny drew a hand across his eyes and looked at Carolyn June.
Tears were streaming down her cheeks.
The Ramblin' Kid Page 16
