CHAPTER VIII.
By John Trotwood Moore
(NOTE—In the beginning we promised our readers that the History of the Hals would not be confined entirely to dry statistics, but would include stories of these horses, and practical information relating to other horse matters. Hence, these two following papers—Editor)
Editor Trotwood’s:
In reading your very interesting and instructive “History of the Hals” and your learned dissertation on the difference between the trot and the pace, I am reminded of one of the most laughable and richest races I ever saw, and which has never been in print before. Understand that thirty-three years ago, when this true story happened, we did not know as much about the difference between the trot and the pace as we do to-day, and which was so ably illustrated in your preceding chapters. Very well—now, for the place: An Illinois town near the Indiana line.
Abe Stickney and Bob Langdon, living in adjoining towns, were rival dealers in road and track horses in a small way. Some time before my story opens Langdon, by a little shrewd, and, perhaps, not quite fair dealing, “singed” Abe for a couple of hundred, and the latter was “laying for him,” as the saying goes. Abe was “game,” and never had uttered a word of complaint, but had kept up a “deal of thinkin’.” In other words, to use one from “The Bishop of Cottontown,” he “froze.”
He was over in Indiana one day, and at a county fair saw a horse of the Blue Bull family, called Hoosier Boy.
In order that your readers may better understand and appreciate this narrative (for I am sure you know the peculiarities of the Blue Bulls), I will explain that the Blue Bull family of horses originated in Indiana, that little was known of the ancestors of the founder of the family, Blue Bell No. 75, that the name was a combination derived from his peculiar color, and a nickname bestowed on him by his enemies, who called him “Prudens Bull,” but he turned out like the “Ugly Duckling,” and surprised his friends and shamed his enemies by founding a remarkable family, and at one time, since I can well remember, he was the champion sire of 2:30 speed, some sixty in number. They were nearly all natural pacers, but as pacers were not popular those days, they were made to trot by the use of heavy toe-weights.
The horse that Abe saw was taking his morning exercise and was a nice, smooth-gaited pacer. In the afternoon, to his astonishment, he saw the same horse win a trotting race in pretty good time. Abe investigated the matter at once and found that he could buy the horse very reasonably, as he was not quite sound, and he also learned that not a step would he trot without toe-weights, but would pace quite fast, though not nearly as fast as he could trot. The horse was shipped home with a bunch of others he had bought, and Abe immediately began to lay his plans. He hired a fellow that he could trust and sent him out to the fair grounds with his horse and then proceeded to Langdon’s town and communicated to Bob’s friends that he had a horse that could beat anything in the county. That was enough, and Bob was looking for Abe and he did not have any trouble to find him.
“They tell me you have a regular streak o’ greased lightning, Abe?”
“Who in thunder’s been lying to you, Bob. Ain’t got nothing but a cheap one, but I would bet ten on a little race between Hoozier Boy and Gray Dan just for fun, might make it twenty the day of race if my horse is all right.”
The ten was soon posted, and the day set a week later, as Abe was on his way to Chicago to be gone a week.
Soon after, Langdon, knowing that Abe was away, sent a couple of friends over to learn all they could about Hoosier Boy. They found the horse in charge of a very sociable fellow.
Yes, that horse was a pacer, and he “lowed” he could step some. He was going to train him a little and they could see him step if they would stay.
So out came Hoosier Boy, and they saw him work a mile, and there was no mistake.
Abe’s man certainly was busy for his orders were that there might be a buyer there while he was gone, and to show him the very best mile he could.
Bob’s friends timed him very carefully, and went home delighted. Gray Dan could beat that time by eight seconds or more. That man of Abe’s was so obliging, too, and they gave him a nice tip, and asked him as a special favor not to mention their visit, as they wanted to buy the horse as cheap as possible.
The race day came and found Abe gloriously drunk. ’Twas not a common thing, but it seemed to always happen when there was important business on hand.
“I ain’t got much money,” said Abe, “but, by gol, I’ll bet that lower eighty of mine agin a thousand dollars—never did like that farm—lost the best cow I ever owned in that pesky swamp.”
Abe had plenty of friends, and they gathered round trying every way to prevent his losing that farm. They knew him for a man that never whimpered when he lost his money, and Bob Langdon was a “sharper.”
“Skin ye, sure, Abe,” they said. But Abe turned a deaf ear to their entreaties.
“I’m runnin’ my own business. ’G’lang’ away and let me be.” And the money was soon up, and the farm, too, and they repaired to the fair grounds for the race. When they arrived they found that very “accommodating fellow” getting Hoosier Boy ready for the race. A good-sized chunk of lead adorned the toes of his front feet, but as Bob and his friends never noticed it, and even if they had would never have minded it, since the greatest of pacers often wear toe-weights, they only nudged each other and prepared to soak it to poor Abe the harder.
As usual, Abe was drunk—or appeared so—and, much to the disgust of his friends, staggered around trying to get up more bets on Hoosier Boy. Then his friends begged, expostulated. They even threatened to take him home forcefully and declare the race off because one of the parties was too drunk to have justice done him. But Abe dodged them and claimed police protection from the crowd who were backing Gray Dan and preparing to rob him on a dead certainty.
Finally, they sent for Abe’s wife to come and save her husband’s “lower eighty.” But the good lady only told them to attend to their own business, and that Abe never was as drunk as he seemed, and while they were gone Abe managed to borrow a thousand more by giving a bill of sale, if he lost, on Hoosier Boy and twenty head of steers he had! Then, to their disgust, he did more—he put up his homestead against another thousand on the ground that he wanted to lose it, because his mother-in-law always stayed there. As this was all in the world he had—the eighty acres, the steers and the horse, and the homestead—and the Gray Dan crowd could find no one else who would put up at any odds, they called for the race and sat down to enjoy the fun.
The horses came out and scored for the race, and still the Gray Dan crowd suspected nothing. It was dead easy. Hadn’t they seen Hoosier Boy do his best, and paced in 2:24, and couldn’t Gray Dan pace in 2:16 or better?
“Po’r Abe,” said all of Abe’s friends, as they got behind fences and posts to keep from seeing the robbery.
On the second score they got away—at least, Hoosier Boy did—so far away from Gray Dan that he was at the half before the Gray Dan crowd saw that he was not pacing at all, but trotting to beat the band.
He finished the mile in 2:13. They forgot to time Gray Dan, who was so far behind.
Bob and his crowd fell off their perch in disgust and left their money with the stake-holder. Abe still owns the lower eighty, and sundry citizens of that locality have resolved that whenever they bet again how fast a horse can go, they will stipulate whether it be trot or pace.
M. R. HIGBEE.