CHAPTER XXIV
Red Rover
August was advancing with everything shaping for a great local event.The Corn Dance of the Indians to celebrate the first of the new crop wasan old festival and brought hundreds of them together. In addition, thegovernment had selected September fifteenth for the semi-annual issue ofthe treaty money. This was a coincidence of festivals that insured agreat attendance and at all such times horse-racing was the favouritesport.
On the Fourth of July of that year the Indians had produced anextraordinary buckskin cayuse which, in spite of its humble origin andraw exterior, had proved speedy enough to defeat all opposition andcapture the big purse. Interest in the opportunity for revenge had grownevery day since, and the fact that each Indian family was to get onehundred dollars in cash, enhanced the chances of a fat purse. A winninghorse was the first need of the ranchmen and they turned at once toHartigan and Blazing Star. They were much taken aback to receive fromhim a flat refusal to enter or to let any one else enter Blazing Starfor a race. In vain they held out great inducements, possibilities of ahuge fortune, certainly of a big lump sum down in advance, or almost anyprice he chose to ask for Blazing Star.
Hartigan's reply was an emphatic "No." And that was the end of it.
There was nothing for the whites to do but find another racer. Therecertainly was no such horse as they needed in all the country; had therebeen, they would have known it; and those who took the matter to heartwere planning a visit to Illinois or Kentucky even, where it was simplya matter of money to get a blooded horse that would settle the issue.
While on a long hard trip for the spiritual help of brethren in theSouth, Jim was left for a day at Chadron, Nebraska, a distributing pointfor settlers coming to the Platte. With the instinct born of his Westernlife, Jim made for the big horse corral, which is always on theoutskirts of a prairie town and where he knew he could pass a pleasanthour or more. It was, as usual, crowded with horses of low and middleclass degree--some old and worn, some young and raw, many extraordinarypintos, one or two mounts above the average of size or beauty, butnothing to secure more than passing attention.
The scene in and about the corral held a great fascination for Jim.There were cowboys and stable hands; farmers whose horses were in thecorral or whose homes were in the prairie schooners anchored on theplain near-by; men were coming and going, and groups of childrenrollicked about the camp fire.
As Hartigan looked on, a young fellow--whose soft, slow speech and"r"-less words were certain proof of Southern birth--led from a stable atall, clean-limbed horse and, flopping into the saddle with easycarelessness, rode away. As he passed, the horse's coat of bronze andgold fairly rippled in the sun as the perfect muscles played beneath,and the delight that Jim got, none but a horseman would understand. Asthe lad cantered away to a camping group and returned, the Preacher hada fair view. The horse might have been twin brother to his own, and hedid not need the rider's assurance that the steed was a "Kaintucky bloodall right."
In all the Western towns an interesting custom has grown up in thematter of registering. The chief hotel is accepted as the social centreand clubhouse, so that a man arriving in town, whether he puts up at thehotel or not, goes to the register and enters his name. "Never fail toregister; it may be handy to prove an alibi," has become a saying. Jimwent to the hotel with an idea. He registered, glanced over the othernames and learned that Cattleman Kyle was then in town. It was easy tofind him in a place of this size, and after a brief search Jim hailedhim boisterously from afar:
"Say, Kyle, I've found what you are looking for."
"What's that?"
"A horse. A real horse. A winner."
"What? Are you willing to sell Blazing Star?"
"No!" was the forceful answer. "Come and see."
And Kyle did see. His eye kindled as he watched the glorious creature inthe sun.
"By jinks! He's all right. He's better than Blazing Star."
"Not on your life!" said Jim, with sudden heat, "but he's what you areafter."
They walked casually up to the young rider. Kyle began:
"Say, young fellow, is that horse for sale?"
"Yo' the fo'th pah'ty to-day to ask that," was the softly cooed answer."No, he ain't fo' sale."
"Looks to me like a Kentucky blood," said Kyle. "Are you going to keephim in this country or ride him back?"
"Wall, I'm h'yah to stay, and I guess he stays with me."
"What are you going to feed him on? You can't get timothy or beans oroats out here. He couldn't keep up on prairie hay; and, if you did tryit, he'd get the loco weed."
This was a good shot and the rider had no ready answer, so Kylecontinued. "How old is he?"
"Fo' last spring and sound as a bell; hasn't a fault," was the reply.
"Why don't you swap him for something that can stand the country?" saidKyle. Then, as the Southerner did not reply, Kyle continued: "I'll giveyou two steady young saddle horses raised in the country and proofagainst pinkeye and loco weed."
"If you add about a thousand dollars, I might consider it," was theresponse.
That was the beginning of bargaining, and the end was that theKentuckian got two native saddle horses and two hundred and fiftydollars cash. Cattleman Kyle got the beautiful Red Rover and JimHartigan experienced just a twinge of jealousy as he saw the newchampion and heard his praises sung. Kyle's intention had been to keepRed Rover and rejoice in the beauty and power of the new possession; butthe problem of how to win the next race made every other considerationsecondary.
It is well known that a skilful trainer can knock twenty-five secondsoff a horse's mile time; or even more, if he can be trained on cleanoats and timothy hay. There were oats, hay and skilful trainers in thecavalry barracks at Fort Ryan. There were none of these things at Kyle'sranch on the Big Cheyenne; hence, after much debate, Red Rover wastransferred, without profit or loss, to Captain Wayne and wasthenceforth the central figure and chiefest hope of the Fort Ryanstables.
Naturally, one of the first things to be done was to get a gauge on RedRover's speed by a race with Blazing Star. It was only a race "for fun,"and Jim gave his place to a lighter man; but he watched with aneagerness not easily expressed in words, and his heart swelled withjoy--yes, into his very throat--when it was made clear, that, while RedRover was good, Blazing Star was better.
All these things were events of the first magnitude to the horseman'sworld that centred at Fort Ryan. The love of horses is common to mostmen, but it is dominant in the West, and rampant in the mounted soldier.The general interest of officers and men grew into a very keen andpersonal interest as the training went on, and touched fever heat whenit was definitely announced that on Treaty Day, September fifteenth,there was to be a race for a purse of one hundred dollars, as a nominalconsideration, and betting to any extent on the side. Meanwhile, wordwas sent to the Pine Ridge Agency that the whites were not discouragedby their defeat in July, but would come again with their horse in theCorn Feast time for a new race.
Then, one fine morning in early August, a long procession of Indiansappeared on the hills, singing their marching songs, trailing theirtravois and tepee poles. They set up their camp not far from Fort Ryan;and soon, Red Cloud, with a few who were near him, rode in to call onColonel Waller. The latter received them on the piazza of his quarters,and, after a smoke, learned that they had come to accept the challengeto race their horses. When and where should it be? It was arranged thaton the fifteenth of September they should meet at Fort Ryan, and thatthe race should come off on the two-mile course at the Fort. Aftersmokes, compliments and the exchange of some presents, Red Cloudwithdrew to his camp.
The following day, as his trainer was putting Red Rover through hispaces around the course, there was a group of Indians on their horses atthe racetrack; silent, attentive, watching every move. At dawn, the dayafter, the sentry reported that a band of mounted Indians were on theracetrack. From his window the Colonel watched them through a telescope.He saw them studying the
ground; and then a naked youth, on a spiritedbuckskin, galloped round. It was easy for the Colonel to note the timeby his stop-watch and thus have a rough idea of the pony's flat speed onthe two miles. He was not surprised one way or the other. The time wasconsiderably over four minutes, which merely proved it to be anordinarily good horse. But, of course, he knew nothing of the handling;was this top speed? or was the driver holding the horse in? In tenminutes the Indians were gone.
The next day, a party rode out from Cedar Mountain to see the Indiancamp; and, leading the light-hearted procession, were Belle Boyd on herpony and the Preacher on Blazing Star. It was not easy to see Red Cloud.He was much wrapped up in his dignity and declined to receive any oneunder the rank of "Soldier High Chief" (Colonel). But they found much tointerest them in the Sioux camp, and at length, were rewarded by seeingthe war chief come forth, mount his horse, and ride, with others, towardthe Fort. Turning aside, at the racetrack, Belle and Jim saw Red Rovercome forth for his morning spin. The Red men drifted to the startingpoint, and just as the racer went away an Indian boy on a buckskinbroncho dashed alongside and kept there round the track. Whether it wasa race or not no one could say, for each rider was jockeying, notwilling to win or lose, and it had the appearance of a prearranged deadheat. One of the officers called out: "Say, boys, that's their same oldbuckskin cayuse. What do you make of it?"
It was the white jockey who replied: "If that's their speeder, it's acinch. I could have run away at any time."
A senior officer spoke up: "I kept tabs on it, and it's just the sametime practically as the Colonel took on his stop watch yesterday. We'vegot them this time."
What the Indians learned was not revealed. But, next morning, Red Cloudcalled upon the Colonel. He smoked a long while before he made clearwhat he was after. "Did the Colonel want a fair race, or not?"
"Why certainly a fair race."
"Then send to Red Cloud a load of the white man's grass that has a taillike a rat; and give him also some of the long white seed, a pile ashigh as a man's knees, so that the pony might eat and be strong, andmake good race."
The Colonel's eyes twinkled. "Ho, ho!" he thought, "the crafty oldvillain has been learning something."
Now though the Colonel of a frontier post has ample power, it would havebeen very unwise of him to sell any stores to the Indian; he might,however, without risk of censure, have given him the asked-for supply,had he deemed it advisable. But why should he help the enemy's horse? Sohe shook his head and said he was "not allowed to sell governmentstores." And Red Cloud turned away, with an expression of scorn.
The next day, a minor chief tried to buy some oats from the stable man;but, being refused, went off in silence; and, two days later, the IndianCamp was gone.
The news soon spread abroad that the famous buckskin cayuse had been upto go over the track, and that Red Rover had played with him. "It was acinch," they could win any money they liked; and then the betting becamecrazy. The Indians have no idea of anything but an even bet, but thatwas good enough. The day of the race there were to be fifty thousandgovernment dollars distributed among them; and every white man, soldieror civilian, who could raise a little cash, was putting it up on acertainty of doubling.
The days and all they held were a terrible strain on Jim Hartigan. Howhe itched to be in it! Not once, but many times, he rode to Fort Ryan tosee Red Rover training; and more than once he rode around the track topace the Rover. His face, his very soul, glowed as he watched the nobleanimal, neck and neck with his own fair steed. "The only horse that everhad made Blazing Star let out."
Then, near the end, in very pride--he could not help it--he put BlazingStar to it and let them see that while Red Rover might be good, he wasonly second best after all.
"It wasn't racing," he explained to Belle, "it was just speeding up alittle. Sure, I want the white man's horse to win over that Indian pony.It would never do to have the broncho win."
There seemed no probability of that; but there was one group ofinterested white men who were not quite so satisfied. Cattleman Kyle andall the ranchers on the Cheyenne wanted a sure thing; and there was noway to make sure, but by a trial race that was a real race. So they usedthe old-time trick of the white man who wishes to get ahead of theIndian: they hired another Indian to help them.
There had always been war and hatred between the Crows and the Sioux.The war was over for the present; but the Crows were very ready to helpany one against their former enemies. Enlisted by the ranchers the Crowspies reported that the Sioux were training their horse not ten milesaway in a secluded secret canyon of the Yellowbank, a tributary of theCheyenne River. And thither by night, with all possible secrecy, wentKyle with a dozen more. Among them was Hartigan. Why? Partly becausethey wanted him along, for his knowledge of horses and jockeys, andchiefly because he himself was mad to go, when he heard of it. The wholecolour of the adventure, the mere fact of its being an adventure, wereoverpowering to his untamed twenty-five-year-old spirit.
They hid their horses in a distant valley; then, in the early dawn, theyfollowed their dusky guide to a little butte, where they made themselvesas comfortable as possible to await the sunrise.
"Well," said Jim, "considering I'm freezing to death an' mortal hungry,and sitting on a bunch of cactus, and playing pick-pocket with anotherman's secrets and ashamed of myself, I'm having a divil of a fine time!"And they chattered and their teeth chattered, till a dog barked farbelow, and they heard the coyotes singing back their long soft call; andin the growing light they discovered an Indian tepee, with smoke issuingfrom the vent hole. Near by was a rude corral. The smoke increased--thengrew less; soon sparks flew out; the light in the sky grew brighter; themusic of the coyotes died away; and, in a little while, the glory of thesun was over the world.
Now they saw an old woman go forth to the corral and, following her, ayouth. Unfastening the rude gate, they entered; and the boy presentlyrode forth on a beautiful buckskin pony, well made and spirited. Yes,the very same one they had seen on the race track at Fort Ryan. They sawhim ridden to water; then, after a short canter, back to the corral.Here they watched the old woman rub and scrub him down from head tofoot, while the boy brought in a truss of very good-looking hay fromsome hidden supply. The old woman went carefully over the bundle,throwing away portions of it. "She throw away all bad medicine plants,"said the Crow. After half an hour, another Indian came forth from thelodge and brought a bag of something for the pony. They could not seewhat it was, but the Crow Indian said it was "white man's corn, thelittle sharp kind that makes a horse's legs move very fast."
"Bedad, there's no mistaking that," said Hartigan; "they're training onoats; an' that hay is too green for prairie grass and not green enoughfor alfalfa. I wonder if they haven't managed to get some timothy fortheir 'hope of the race!'"
The first important fact was that the cattlemen had discovered thetraining ground of the Indian racer; the second that the Red men wereneglecting nothing that could help them to win. Now to be a completestory of a good scouting, these watchers should have stayed there allday, to see what the Indian methods were; but that would have been aslow job. They were too impatient to wait. It was clear, anyway, thatthe redskins had adopted all they could learn from the whites, and thatthe buckskin cayuse was no mean antagonist. The Crow scout assured themthat every morning, an hour or so after eating, the pony was raced up to"that butte, round and back here. Then, by and by, sun low, go again."
So, fully informed, the white spies retired; sneaked back to theirhorses and in less than two hours were at Fort Ryan.
"Well, Colonel, we sure saw the whole thing," said Hartigan. "They arenot taking any chances on it. 'Tisn't much of a stable--nary a shingleoverhead--but they're surely training that buckskin; and it'shand-picked hay they give him and sandpapered oats, worth gold; and theydon't neglect his coat; and by the same token it's out for a race theyare."
And now Kyle unfolded his plan to the Colonel. It was nothing less thanthis: to send a half-breed trader to the India
n training camp with asupply of whiskey, play on the weakness of the Red man till man, womanand boy, and others if there were any, were stupid drunk; then have RedRover brought secretly, and at dawn, take the buckskin out of thecorral, put a jockey on each, develop the best speed of both horsesaround the Indian training track, and so get an absolute gauge to guidethe betting.
At first, the Colonel demurred. "Was it quite honourable?"
"Why not? Didn't they come and run their horse against ours in a trial,right here on the garrison track, without asking our leave? We are notgoing to hurt the pony in any way."
The temptation was too much for human nature. The Colonel finallyagreed; and all that was needed was the working out of details. Hartiganwas eager to be one of the jockeys. "Sure it wasn't a real race in thesense that stakes were up." The Colonel shook his head. "If you wereabout one hundred pounds lighter we'd be glad to have you, but onehundred and eighty pounds is too much for any horse."
It was no easy matter to get the right weight. The cavalrymen were alltoo heavy; but an odd character had turned up, the second son of anEnglish baronet, a dissipated youth, barely a hundred pounds in weight;an agglomeration of most weak vices, but thin, tough, and a born andtrained horseman. He was selected for one, and Little Breeches, a cowboyof diminutive proportions, for the other. All the material was now insight for the scheme.