As the hour approached for the race, the grounds began to fill up. Several races between Indian ponies took place to keep the crowd amused until the big race of the day was to come off.
"They've been working us," said Ted, coming up to where Stella and the boys were standing beside Hatrack, which looked more sad and dejected than ever.
"In what way?" asked Bud.
"This race is a gambling game to get the money away from the innocents," answered Ted. "They've had men going among the people from the country and the cow-punchers, telling them that it is a put-up job on our part, and that we're sure to win. In that way they have got a lot of people to bet on Hatrack. I've a good mind to draw out of it altogether and spoil their game."
"For fear the innocents will lose their money?" asked Bud.
"Yes. I don't want to be a party to robbing those fellows."
"Don't you worry. If you want to punish Norris and his friends, don't interfere. Let it go on, I tell you. They'll be the worst-beaten lot o' crooks that ever robbed a town."
"All right, Bud, if you say so."
It was now time for the race of the day, and Bud and Norris marked off the course.
Ben was appointed judge, with a large man, apparently a stranger in the town, who was chosen by Norris, and the two selected a third.
The third man was a stranger to Ben, but he picked him out of the crowd, and the other judge accepted him.
As Stella climbed into the saddle, Hatrack gave two or three kittenish jumps, and the crowd yelled. It had not expected this added feature to the race, a girl jockey.
Shout after shout went up as she rode over the course slowly, Hatrack having settled down into his usual dejected manner. The cheers and some of the jeers that greeted him came from the men who had been induced to bet on him.
"Now, Stella," said Bud, as Stella rode back again, "when you start, shout 'Vamose!' in Hatrack's ear. That's the word he has always been sent away with. Stick tight, an' let him go. Don't forget the word 'Vamose!'"
CHAPTER XXVII.
THE GREAT CHIQUITA.
Hatrack and Magpie were now brought up to the starting point.
The boy who traveled with old man Norris was on the back of the latter horse, sitting in a regular jockey's saddle and stripped of all superfluous clothing.
He was the typical jockey now. He had put away all the appearance of youth, and was a crafty and sly man.
It was apparent that the whole outfit was in the racing business, and as the crowd looked at the discrepancy between the two horses, and observed that on the best-looking horse was a professional jockey, while on the crowbait was only a girl, something like a groan went up.
But some of them were game, and cheered Stella to the echo.
"You're all right!" shouted her supporters.
"Hurrah fer ther girl jockey," yelled the cow-punchers. "I got a month's wages that says she'll win the race."
But the other side had something to say, also. They made all sorts of fun of Hatrack, and roars of laughter went up as he ambled, stiff-legged, onto the course.
Clay Whipple was chosen to start the race, and stood beside the track with a red flag in his hand. The two horses were jockeyed back and forth for several minutes.
"Are you ready?" shouted Clay, as they came up.
"No!" shouted Stella.
"No!" answered the jockey.
Back again they went, and came up neck and neck, the riders nodding to Clay.
"Go!" cried Clay, bringing down the red flag with a swish through the air.
"Vamose!" Stella's clear young voice rang out.
Then an amazing thing happened. Hatrack seemed to be suddenly galvanized into life. He straightened out, and shot to the front with great, long horizontal leaps. His body seemed to be gliding close to the earth.
His head was between his legs, and he was running like a greyhound. Stella was bent low upon his neck, and every moment or two she would shout in Spanish, "Go it! Vamose!" or, "You're winning! Vamose!"
And winning Hatrack surely was. Now he was half a length ahead of the fleet Magpie, who was running the race of her life.
Behind her Stella could hear the crowd yelling like mad. The air fairly shook with the shouts of the multitude as the two horses shot forward. But it was a short race, and seemed to Stella to have ended almost as soon as it began.
As she flew past Bud, she got a fleeting glimpse of him jumping up and down in a very ecstasy of glee, and she knew that she had won, and began pulling in Hatrack. Looking over her shoulder, she saw that Magpie was already down to a walk a short distance from the wire, and that Cap Norris and the jockey were talking earnestly.
In a moment she had Hatrack turned, and was going back to where Bud was waiting for her.
"Bully for you, Stella," shouted Bud. "Yer rode a great race. Jest ez I wanted it run. Nobody couldn't hev done it better. I told yer ye'd win."
"That was too easy," laughed Stella. "I wish it had been four times as long."
"That makes it all the better."
"How much did I beat him?"
"A whole length."
"That ought to be enough."
"It was, but I'll bet a cooky they'll make a kick. These crooks always lay out to win, and won't race unless they can win. If they don't, they set up a cry of foul, or something of that sort."
"But they can't do that in this case, because I didn't foul him."
Stella became indignant at the very thought.
"Sure you didn't, but that won't keep those wolves from claiming some sort of a foul."
"You're not going to stand for it, are you?"
"Not in a blue moon. I've got the boys posted. Here comes Norris and his jockey back."
The old racing sharp walked up to Bud, leading Magpie.
"Well, Magpie's mine," said Bud, not giving the other a chance to speak first. "Sorry for your sake that you lost, Cap, but the fortunes of racing often turn unexpectedly, eh?"
"You haven't won," said the old man excitedly.
"Oh, I reckon we won, all right," answered Bud lazily, although there was an ugly gleam in his eye.
"No, sir, you didn't win fair. Thar wuz a foul at ther start. I see it, all right; I wasn't shore until I talked with my boy thar, an' he says as how ther young lady bumped him outer his stride jest ez they wuz gittin' off."
"Oh, no, you can't work me like that, Cap. They were five feet apart when the flag fell."
"I tell yer I see it with my own eyes. 'Twas a foul, an' I claim ther race, er it hez got ter be run over ag'in."
"Never, on yer life. The race goes to the young lady. But I'm not going to stand here and chew the thing over with you. It's up to the judges."
They all approached the judges' stand, where apparently a lively argument was in progress.
Ben and the big man who had been chosen by Norris were talking excitedly, and the other man was listening.
All about the stand an angry crowd of men was surging, all talking at once, so that nothing could be made out of the babel of shouts, except when some person with unusually good lungs made himself heard in a denunciation of one or the other riders.
Ted had joined the crowd, waiting for the arrival of Bud and Stella. Bud was walking by the side of Stella, whose face showed the disappointment she felt at not being declared at once the winner.
It was so evidently a job to steal the race from Hatrack that the leader of the broncho boys was both angry and disgusted.
"This is what you get for having anything to do with this mob of gamblers and thieves," he said to Kit, who was standing by his side.
"What's that you said, young feller?" said a man, edging up.
"I wasn't talking to you, my friend," answered Ted coolly.
"No, but you was talkin' at me," said the other.
"Why, are you a thief and a gambler?" asked Ted, with a lifting of his eyebrows that expressed a great deal that he did not say.
"I guess it's the other way around," answered the fel
low, snarling.
"I don't see how you make that out."
"Well, I do. The gal bumped the rider o' Magpie."
"She did nothing of the sort. I stood beside the starter of the race, and I was nearer to the horses than you were, and if any one could see them I could. The horses were several feet apart when they started."
"Why, sure. You and your pals are interested in the bone heap that went in first through a foul."
"That will be about enough of that."
A bright red spot burned on each of Ted's cheeks, the danger signal of his wrath.
"Now, see here, young fellow, you can't throw any bluff into me," said the fellow, approaching Ted with one shoulder raised.
"You let him alone. He's all right, and has got as much right to talk as you have," said another man, elbowing his way up.
He was one of those who had bet on Hatrack, and Ted recognized him as the foreman of the Running Water horse ranch.
"Well, the gal stole the race fer these fellers, an' we ain't goin' ter stand fer it. They needn't think they kin bring any o' their gals in here to do their dirty work. They all look alike to us."
"See here," said Ted coolly, "let me give you a piece of advice. Leave the young lady out of it, or I'll give you something else to think about for a while."
"Rats fer you," said the fellow, snapping his fingers under Ted's nose.
He picked himself from the ground ten feet away, wiping his bleeding nose and wondering what had happened to him.
"Say, boy," said the foreman of the Running Water, "that was as pretty and clean a blow as ever I see. You can handle them mitts o' yours right handy."
A score of men had rushed up and surrounded Ted and Kit, all shouting and gesticulating at the same time.
Meantime, Ben was having his troubles in the judges' stand.
He had, of course, decided in favor of Hatrack, while the big man had declared for a foul and no decision, and the third judge stood wavering.
On the face of it the whole thing was a steal on the part of the gamblers, who had evidently decided beforehand that if the race went against them to claim a foul and bluff it through.
But they had argued without their host. They did not know what they were opposing when they ran against Ted Strong.
Ted was sorry that he had gone into the affair at all, but once in he was there to stick to the finish. The fellow whom he had knocked down had retired to the rear to attend to his broken nose, and to give his friends an opportunity to fight his battle.
The foreman of the Running Water had disappeared. He had foreseen trouble when the gamblers got together, and attempted to force the race through, and had gone to collect the cow-punchers and others who had been induced to bet on Hatrack.
Ted stood his ground patiently, waiting until a decision should be handed down by the judges before declaring himself.
Stella was sitting in her saddle on Hatrack a few feet away from the stand watching the proceedings, and listening to the arguments on both sides made by the angry men.
Bud and Kit stood on either side of her, to protect her from the remarks of the disgruntled gamblers.
Suddenly a man pushed his way through the throng, mounted on a Spanish mule.
He was a fine-looking man, dressed after the manner of the plainsman, and might have been either a cow-puncher in prosperity or a ranch owner.
As the crowd made way for him he caught sight of Bud, and stopped and stared for several moments without speaking.
Bud had not noticed him, but when he did look up he returned the stare, and his forehead was wrinkled in thought.
Somewhere in the back part of his head he carried a picture of this man, but under different circumstances.
Who could he be, and where had he been met, were the things that were puzzling Bud.
"Hello, pard, you don't seem to place me," said the man on the Spanish mule. "But I haven't forgotten you by a dern sight. Think hard."
"I've saw yer som'er's," said Bud thoughtfully, "but it wa'n't like this. You're som'er's in my picture gallery o' faces, but yer ain't ther same as when I saw yer last."
"Right ye are," said the man. "How's Chiquita getting along?"
"Ah, I've got yer now. How did yer come out? Middlin' well, ter jedge from ther mule yer ridin', an' yer ginral appearance o' prosperity."
"You bet I be," said the man, "an' if it hadn't been fer you I wouldn't have been nowhere. I've come a long ways ter hunt yer up, ter thank yer, an' to get better acquainted with yer."
"Well, ye've got me inter a heap o' trouble," said Bud, laughing.
"So I see, an' I'll help yer get out o' it. What seems ter be the trouble?"
"Well, old Chiquita, er Hatrack, ez ther boys in ther outfit calls him, won a race just now, an' ther gamblers won't stand by it. They sent out word that Hatrack was a sure winner, an'—"
"Same old thing. Chiquita fooled them all."
"I didn't know he could do it myself, but I remembered what you said about him, an' when an ole maverick come along an' banters me fer a race I jest took him up, an' this is how it come out. He took us fer a bunch o' gillies, an' used us to try to fleece the people."
"What's his name?" asked the man on the Spanish mule softly.
"Cap Norris."
"Oh, ole Pap Norris, eh? Calls hisself Cap now, does he?"
"That's what he does, an' he's a derned ole skin."
"None skinnier. But where is he? I should like to see him."
"He's sashayin' around here som'er's attendin' ter his dirty work. Lookin' after his grandson, little Willie, I reckon."
"What, is that thief still hangin' on to him?"
"Yes. I see you seem to know him."
"Know him! Well, I should gurgle I do know him. I thought every hoss man in the country knew him. Little Willie, the orphaned grandson, is almost old enough to be a grandfather himself. He's an outlawed jockey, an' he an' Pap go about the country skinning countrymen and cow-punchers with his fake races. He never won a square race in his life. I should say I did know him. Here he comes now. Watch me wake him up."
The old fellow was bustling up to the crowd.
"See here, young fellow, get ther gal offen that hoss, he's mine, er as good as mine in a moment. The jedges are goin' ter award ther race ter me on account o' ther foul," he shouted to Bud.
"I reckon ther hoss stays right with me," said Bud smoothly. "But I want ter tell yer thet yer better bring in that magpie hoss so's I kin git him quick. He ain't yours no more."
"Come, come! None o' yer foolishness with me," blustered the old man. "Git ther gal off before she's pulled off."
"You or any other man put your finger on thet young lady if yer dare," said Bud. "Jest try it once if yer think I'm bluffin', men."
"Hello, Pap," said the man on the Spanish mule. "Up ter yer ole tricks, I see."
The old man looked up at the man on the mule, then turned pale and slunk away without another word.
"Men," said the man on the mule, addressing the crowd, "you've been stung. This old bag o' bones is Chiquita, the best race horse ever produced in Mexico, an' I brought him over here, where I traded him for a plain cayuse an' gave something ter boot. If any o' you men know anything about hosses ye'll recognize ther great Chiquita, what made an' lost more money fer ther people o' Mexico than any one other thing. Pap didn't know it until he see me, then he suddenly remembered a little deal me an' him was in. I know this Magpie hoss well, an' it couldn't stand no more show of winnin' a race from Chiquita than a snail would. Take it from me that ye've been caught at yer own game, an' have been done."
At the name of Chiquita a groan went up from the gamblers.
"And who are you?" asked Bud.
"Come nearer, an' I'll tell you in your ear," was the reply.
Bud went close to him, and the man stooped in his saddle and whispered a word in his ear, at which the old cow-puncher looked startled, then burst into a fit of laughter.
CHAPTER XXVIII
TED'S GREAT VICTORY.
"I tell you I'll never stand for it."
The voice of big Ben Tremont could be heard roaring above the noise made by the crowd around the judges' stand.
"It's a go. The race goes to Magpie on a foul."
The big man in the stand made this announcement in a voice of thunder.
"Bully for you, Shan Rhue!" yelled the gamblers, crowding to the stand in a body.
At the same moment Bud caught Hatrack by the bridle and led him out of the crowd, for he knew what was impending.
"I say it don't go," shouted Ben. "This man, who is in league with that old crook, Norris, declares a foul. I say there was no foul."
"How does the other judge go?" called a voice.
"He declines to give a voice in the matter," answered Ben.
"Throw the coyote down here, and we'll help him make up his mind," called the foreman of the Running Water. "If he's too much of a coward to decide for the right, we'll help him. Throw him over."
The foreman of the Running Water was a formidable-looking man.
He was tall and sinewy, with a seamed and scarred face, a map of many battles with the elements, the wild animals of mountain and plain, and with his fellow men.
He was heavily armed, and the town gamblers knew him for a bad fighter when he was aroused.
"Stick fer ther big show," he said to Ted, who was standing beside him. "I've got the boys bunched back there on the edge of the crowd. When it comes to a show-down we'll all be here. But it's no place fer wimmin an' children."
"I don't want to get into a fight if we can help it," said Ted.
"Yer ain't afraid o' these cattle, aire ye?" asked the foreman, looking at Ted curiously, but with a shade of disappointment in his eyes.
"Not for a minute," said Ted, throwing a straight glance into the other's eyes. "There's nothing to be afraid of, that I can see. But what's the use if we can get at it in some other way?"
"Well, I reckon yer right, bub," said the other slowly. "Some one is shore liable ter git hurt. But I'd sooner see ther whole crowd hurt than have this bunch o' thieves git away with their game."
Ted Strongs Motor Car Page 20
