The Forfeit

by Ridgwell Cullum

  CHAPTER X

  THE POLO CLUB RACES

  The race-track at Calthorpe was a matter of no small pride to itscitizens. Any western city could possess broad and beautiful avenues.Any city might well boast hotels of six, eight, or even ten floors, andexpress elevators, and things of that sort. A cathedral was notunknown even, and electric surface cars. But a race-track--arecognized race-track--which was included in the official westerncircuit of race meetings, was certainly a matter for more than ordinarypride.

  Such regard was undoubtedly meted out to it, and as a corollary therewere prophets in the city who foresaw the later development of aCountry Club, with a golf course, and the provision for every otheroutdoor sport under its luxurious administration. Those who couldafford such luxuries pretended to look upon these things asindispensable, and those who couldn't regarded them with simple pride,and lived in the glamour of their reflected glory, and told each otherhow such things should be administered.

  Such developments, however, were for the future. The race-trackexisted, and, amongst its many other delights, it supplied the crankswith a text for frequent sermons.

  It was set in a luxurious woodland dip, well beyond the town limits,and occupied a small flat of rich grass through which a mountain creekwound its ridiculously tortuous course. Thus it was provided with thenatural resources demanded by a steeplechase course as well as the"flat."

  It was a toy which the wealth of the neighborhood had been poured outupon with no niggard hand, till it found itself possessed of aminiature grand stand, a paddock and loose boxes, for the use of many apony whose normal days were spent roaming wild upon the plains. Thenthere was the Polo Club House and ground, where many of the city'ssocial functions were held. The whole thing was as pretentious asmoney could make it, and in due proportion it was attractive to theminds of those who believed themselves leaders in their social world.

  Nan Tristram understood all this and smiled at it, just as sheunderstood that to absent oneself from the Polo Club Races in CattleWeek would be to send in one's resignation from the exclusive socialcircles to which she belonged, a position quite unthinkable for one whosought only the mild excitements which pertain to early youth.

  The noon following the ball, and all the disturbed moments which itinspired, found Nan on the way to the Polo Club Races. Her party wasriding, and it was an extensive party. There were some twenty and moresaddles. Luncheon had been sent on ahead, catered for by Aston's Hotelat Jeffrey Masters' expense, one of the many social duties which hiselection to the Presidency of the Western Union Cattle Breeders'Association entitled him to undertake during the Cattle Week.

  It was a gay party, mostly made up of young and prosperous ranchmen,and the girls belonging to their little world. Nor among them couldhave been found any one more brightly debonair and attractive than NanTristram.

  There was never a sign about her of the disquieting thoughts ofovernight. Such things might never have been. Her eyes, so soft andbrown, were sparkling with that joy of life which never fails in itsattraction even for the most serious mind. She sat her brown mareastride with the easy grace of a born horsewoman. Her equipment lackedno detail in its comparison with that of the other women. Bud'swarning on this point had fallen upon willing and attentive ears whenhe had handed the girl a signed blank check. And the old man had foundample reward for his generosity in the rivalry amongst the men for his"gal's" escort.

  The only shadow which fell across his enjoyment had occurred when hebeheld Jeff leading the cavalcade at the side of Mrs. Van Blooren. Butin Nan's case it seemed to give not the smallest qualm. Her one singlepurpose seemed to be to obtain a maximum of enjoyment at the side ofyoung Bill Dugdale, a college-bred youth of more than ordinary reputeas a prosperous cattleman.

  The day was fresh for midsummer. The sky was ruffled with greatbillowing white summer clouds, and a cool northwest breeze was comingoff the mountain tops. The whole world about them was assuming thattawny green of the ripening season, and the trail was sufficientlydusty for its abandonment in favor of the bordering grass. But ifmidsummer reigned over Nature, Spring, fresh, radiant Spring was in thehearts of those seeking the mild excitement of Calthorpe's race-track.

  Nan and young Dugdale laughed and chattered their way in the wake ofthe several couples ahead. Dugdale's desire to please was more thanevident. And Nan was at no time difficult. Just now she seemed toenter into the spirit of everything with a zest which sent the man'shopes soaring skyward.

  Once only during the brief ride did the girl give the least sign thather interest lay on anything but her good-looking escort. It was at amoment when Dugdale was pointing out to her the humorous inspiration ofhis own registered cattle brand.

  "You see, 'B.B.' don't sound much of a scream, Miss Tristram," he said,in great seriousness. "I don't guess it's likely to set you fallingout of your saddle in one wild hysterical whoop of unrestrained mirth.Course I'm known by it, same as you're known by the 'Obar,' but some ofthe language the boys fix to my brand 'ud set a Baptist ministerhollerin' help. Say, I can't hand you it all. I just can't, that'sall. 'Bill's Bughouse' is sort of skimmed milk to pea soup. Thenthere's 'Bill's Boneyard.' That wouldn't offend any one but myforeman. 'Busy Bee' kind of hands me a credit I don't guess I'mentitled to. But there's others smack of the intelligence of badlyraised hogs." Then he laughed. "The truth is, when I first pitchedcamp on Lime Creek I wasn't as wise to things ranching as aSunday-school committee. I lived mostly on beans an' bacon, and whenthe boys fell in at night, why, I don't guess there was much besidebeans and bacon to keep 'em from falling into a state of coma on myblankets. It generally fixed them right, and I'm bound to say theynever seemed to find they couldn't sit a saddle after it. Yes, and hitthe trail for fifty miles, if there was fresh meat at the end of it. Isort of got known around as 'Beans and Bacon.' Then it was abbreviatedto B.B. And so when I registered my brand it just seemed natural toset down B.B."

  Nan's laugh was very genuine. Dugdale's ingenuous manner alwayspleased her.

  "You hadn't learned prairie hospitality," she said. "You surely werecommitting a grave offense."

  The man was full of pretended penitence.

  "I don't guess that needed _learning_!" he said, with a wry smile."The boys just handed it to me same as a parson hands a heart-to-hearttalk on things you're hatin' to hear about. Oh, I was put wise quick.But when you've got just about ten thousand dollars that's telling youyou're all sorts of a fool, and you're yearning for 'em to believeyou're a twin brother to Pierpont Morgan, why, you don't feel yourhide's made of gossamer, and don't care a cuss if folks start right into hammer tacks into it for shoe leather."

  "And the dollars? You convinced them?" Nan's eyes were full of humor.

  "Convinced 'em?" The man's eyes opened wide. "Say, Miss Tristram, itwas a mighty big argument. Oh, yes, and I guess there were times whenwe come near bein' such bad friends that I wanted to hand 'em right onto the nearest saloon-keeper I could find. But in the end I won. Oh,I won. I just told 'em right out what I thought of 'em, and theirparents, and their ancestors, and their forthcoming progeny, and--that,seemed to fix things. They got civil then. Sort of raised their hats,and--got busy. You'd be astonished if you saw the way they hatchedout--after that. You see," he added whimsically, "there's just aboutonly one way of makin' life act the way you need it. Set your backteeth into the seat of things, and--hang on."

  But Nan's reply was slow in coming, and her usually ready laugh was notin evidence. His final remark had brought very near the surface allthose feelings and thoughts she had striven so hard to bury where theycould no longer offend. It seemed to the man that her eyes had grownunnecessarily serious. But then he did not know that there was anyunusual interest for her in the fact that Jeff Masters was escortingMrs. Van Blooren.

  When she did speak it was with her gaze fixed upon the couple ahead.

  "Yes, that's it," she said. "Hang on. Hang on with every ounce ofcourage and str
ength you've got. And if you've got to go under, why, Iguess it's best done with a smile, eh?" Quite abruptly she indicatedthe woman in front. "I do think she's real beautiful, don't you?"

  "Who?" The man had no concern for anybody at that moment but the girlat his side.

  "Who? Say, aren't you just foolish. I was thinking of Mrs. VanBlooren."

  The man laughed.

  "I surely am," he declared. "And I've won prizes for thought-readingat parlor games, too."

  They both laughed. Then Nan went on with a persistence which was quitelost upon the thought-reader.

  "Who is she? Mrs. Van Blooren?" she demanded.

  "Why, you met her, sure?" Then the man added with some significance:"She's riding with Jeff Masters."

  "Oh, yes. I've met her. I met her last night, and I've seen her manytimes before." Then she added with a shadow of coldness in her manner:"But she doesn't belong to the cattle folk."

  The man's eyes were following the direction of Nan's.

  "No-o," he said seriously. "Guess I'm not wise. They say her husbandwas a rancher--before he acted foolish an' died."

  Nan's laugh came readily.

  "That's bright. I don't guess he started running cattle--after."

  Dugdale chuckled explosively.

  "Who's to say?" he cried. Then he went on with enthusiasm: "Say,wouldn't it be bully to think of? Just get a thought of it. Flappingaround with elegant store wings, rounding up golden steers trimmed withfancy halos, and with jeweled eyes. Branding calves of silver withflaming irons and turning 'em out to feed on a pasture of purple grasswith emeralds and sapphires for blossoms all growing around. Andthen----"

  "Think again. Say, your taste's just--cheap. But we're talking ofMrs. Van Blooren."

  "I'm sorry. Why, I guess she's daughter to the Carruthers's. John D.Carruthers. He was principal at St. Bude's College. Pensioned. Guessit's five years since she handed us boys the G. B. and hooked up with awhite-gilled hoodlum from down East. He got around here with a wadhe'd raised from his father. Can't say who his father was. Folksguessed he was some millionaire. I don't just know the rights of it.Anyway, he left her well enough fixed. Gee! Fancy a feller actingthat way--dying, with a wife like that. Wonder what sort of mush hekept in his thinking depot? I'd say folks with sense have to live onthe chances fools can't just kick to death. Anyway, seeing she'sstarted right in to set her wings rustling again I guess some fellerwith hoss sense'll be getting busy. They'd make a swell couple," headded with a grin. "Jeff's a good-looker."

  Nan nodded.

  But she made no answer. Had the man been less concerned with hismatch-making suggestions he must have observed the effect of hiscareless words. Nan had paled under the pretty tanning of her roundedcheeks. She was hurt, hurt beyond words, and though she couldwillingly have cried out she was forced to smother her feelings. Thepanic of the moment passed, however, and, with a great effort, she wasable to give her suggestion its proper value. But somehow, for therest of the ride, it seemed to her that the sun was less bright, thewind even had become chilly, and altogether there was a curious,enervating world-weariness hanging over everything.

  By the time they reached the race-track she felt in her simple heartshe ought to apologize for having spoiled her escort's ride. But theinclination was only the result of her depression. She even toldherself, with a gleam of humor, that if she attempted it she would haveto burst into tears.

  However, the later excitement of the racing helped to revive Nan'sdrooping spirits. The scene was irresistible. The atmosphere. Thehappy buoyant enjoyment on every side could not long be denied whateverthe troubles awaiting more sober moments. There were the sleek andglossy horses. There were the brilliant colors of the jockey's silks.There was the babel of excited voices, the shouting as the horsesrushed down the picturesque "straight." Then the betting. Thelunching. The sun. The blessed sun and gracious woodland slopesshutting in this happy playground of men and women become childrenagain at the touch of pleasure's magic wand. No, for all her anxiety,Nan had no power to withstand the charm and delirium of it all. And,for a while, she flung herself into it with an abandon which matchedthe most reckless.

  Twice she found herself in financial difficulties through recklessbetting, and twice the open-handed Bud had to come to her assistance.Each time his comment was characteristic, and Nan laughed at him withthe irresponsibility of a child who tastes the delight of gambling forthe first time.

  "Say, little gal," Bud admonished her, the second time he unrolled his"wad" of bills. "Makin' dollars on a race-track's jest about as easyas makin' ice-cream. Ther's jest one way of doing it. Ast yourselfwhich hoss you're craziest to dope out your money on, an' when you'replumb sure then get right along an' bet on the other feller.Meanwhiles think in dollars an' play in cents."

  And Nan's answer reflected her feelings of the moment.

  "You can't play in cents, my Daddy, when it's time to play in dollars.You never know when the time's coming along when even cents are deniedyou."

  Then before the worshipping parent could add to his advice the girldarted off with her hands full of outspread bills seeking the poolrooms.

  She had seen the horses cantering over to the post for the half-miledash. It was a race for legitimate cow-ponies and she knew Jeff's"Sassafras" was running in it. She meant to bet on Jeff's horse. Itmattered nothing to her what other horses were running. She knewlittle enough of their claims. She had one thought in life. Anythingto do with Jeff Masters, anything of his was good enough for her togamble on--even with her life. This was the real, all unconscious Nan.It was not in her to give half measure. She had no idea of what shewas doing. She had no subtlety or calculation of anything where herlove was concerned. She would back Jeff to the limit, and stand orfall by it. It was the simple loyalty and devotion which only a womancan yield.

  On her way to the pool room she encountered Jeff himself, and, in theexcitement of the moment, clasping her money in both hands, she thrustthem out toward him.

  "Say, Jeff," she cried, "I'm just crazy. The horses have gone rightout to the start now, and--and I'm gasping to put my dollars onSassafras."

  The man's quiet smile was good to see. And Nan warmed under itsinfluence. This was the Jeff she had known so long and loved so well.There was no other woman near to have provoked that smile. It washers. She felt it was all hers, and her eyes shone up into the depthsof blue she so loved.

  "Why, Nan, I just hate to disappoint you," he said, in a gentlefashion. "But you'll surely be crazy to back my plug with TommyCleveden's 'Jack Rabbit' in the race. It's a cinch for him. It is so."

  Nan laughed a glad buoyant laugh.

  "Jack Rabbit?" she echoed scornfully. "Why, he points the toe. Guesshe'd outrun Sassafras if he kept his feet, but he'll never do it.He'll peck. Then he'll change his stride. No, Jeff. Sassafras goeswith me."

  The smile in the man's eyes faded out. He hated the thought of Nanlosing her money on what he considered a foolish bet. His practicalmind could not see under her purpose.

  "Say, Nan, just don't you do it," he said persuasively. "We aren't.We're backing Jack Rabbit for a big roll."

  "We?"

  "Mrs. Van Blooren and me."

  Jeff's manner was quite unconcerned. At that instant he had no thoughtof anything but to dissuade Nan from throwing her money away uselessly.And Nan. Her eyes never wavered for an instant in their regard. Theirwarmth of expression remained. Yet it was a cruel blow. Perhaps thecruelest that could have been inflicted at such a moment. Jeff hadinflicted it--Jeff of all men.

  She smiled up at him. Oh, how she smiled. Her eyes shone like twosuperb brown diamonds as she forced her money upon him with evengreater determination.

  "Take it, Jeff. Take it," she cried urgently. "Say, if you never,never do another thing for me--ever. Take it, and, why, I guess everycent of it says Sassafras wins. Sassafras is your pony, Jeff, and I'dback him if he'd only three legs and a fe
nce post." Then just thesmallest gleam of the woman peeped through. "Maybe Mrs. Van Blooren'sa pretty bright woman. But I guess I'm wise to horses."

  Jeff hurried away. There was no time to waste. The horses had alreadyassembled at the start. Nan watched him go with eyes that had losttheir last gleam of sunshine. The mask she had set up before the manhad completely fallen. Jeff was--was betting for Mrs. Van Blooren! Hewas betting with her! Maybe even they were pooling their bets! Oh!

  For some moments she stood alone where Jeff had left her. Everybodyhad rushed to the fence of the enclosure, crowding to witness the race.Nan seemed to have forgotten it. It was Bud's voice that finallyclaimed her, and she tried to pull her scattered faculties together.

  She reached Bud's side amongst the crowd, and the old man's shrewd eyessearched her troubled face.

  "What's amiss, Nan?" he demanded, in a tone almost brusque.

  And the girl responded with a wistful smile.

  "Why, Daddy, I've bet all your money on Jeff's Sassafras, and--and Iwant him to win more than anything--anything in the world."

  Bud's reply was lost in the sudden shout that went up. It was thestart. Some one made way for Nan, and gently pushed her to a placeagainst the railings. The winning-post was directly in front of her.The full breadth of the track was in her view. She gazed out with eyesthat were very near tears. She saw a vista of green and many figuresmoving beyond the track. She heard the hoarse cries of men, whosedesires exceeded their veracity as they shouted the progress of therace. But nothing of what she heard or beheld conveyed anything toher. Her heart was aching once more, and her thoughts were heavilyoppressed, and all the joy of the day had suddenly been banished.

  Then of a sudden came that greatest of all tonics. That irresistiblesensation so powerfully stimulating that no trouble can resist it. Theracing horses leaped into her view, and the disjointed shouts weldedinto one steady roar. Nan was caught in the tide of it all. The bloodseemed to rush to her head like full rich wine. She added her lightcries to the general tumult.

  "Sassafras! Sassafras!" she cried, with eyes blind to all but theindistinct cluster of the straining horses.

  Then in her ears rang a cry:

  "A hundred dollars Jack Rabbit! A thousand! Jack Rabbit! JackRabbit!"

  It was like a douche of cold water. The girl's heart sank. She felt,she knew that Jack Rabbit had won. Then into her ears poured a babelof voices. The roar had died out, and the crowd were waiting for thenumbers to go up.

  Nan had no further interest. She turned to seek her father. He wasthere, not far behind her, and she pushed her way toward him. Shesmiled bravely as she came up, but the pathos of it was lost on Bud.He was craning, and his eyes were on the number board. He did not evensee her.

  "I'm--I'm sort of tired, Daddy," she began.

  But Bud held up his hand. There was a rattle at the number board. Nanunderstood. She waited. Then it seemed as if the crowd had timeditself for one unanimous shout.

  "Sassafras!"

  It came with a sort of electric thrill for the girl. In one wildmoment all her shadows seemed to clear.

  "Sassafras!" she cried.

  And her father's deep gray eyes beamed down upon her

  "You've sure guessed right, little gal," he said. "An' I--hope it wasdollar time."

  At that instant Jeff thrust his way through the crowd, and the warmthof his smile flooded the girl's heart with happiness.

  "Say, Nan," he cried, holding out his hand with an enthusiasm that washardly to be expected in one who has lost, "you got us all beat a mile.You surely have. Sassafras. My old Sassafras. Say, who'd 'a' thoughtit?" Nan's hand remained clasped in his, and she seemed to have nodesire to withdraw it. Jeff looked round into Bud's face. "Do youknow what she's won? Do you, Nan?" he went on to the girl again.

  Nan laughed. It was all she wanted to do.

  "Not a notion, Jeff. I handed you all Daddy gave me. How much was it,Daddy?"

  "Five hundred."

  Nan's eyes widened in alarm.

  "Five hundred? And I bet it all on--Sassafras!"

  "And you've won nearly five thousand," cried Jeff, stirred completelyout of himself at the girl's success.

  "I--I must have been--crazy," she declared, in an awed voice.

  Bud laughed, but his eyes were full of a sympathy that had no meaningfor the others.

  "Not crazy, little Nan. Jest good grit. Guess Jeff didn't see thepool waitin' around for him to pick up. Wal, guess ther's a heap o'folk like him. You played right out for a win, an' you won--by a head."