At three o’clock the crowd began drifting toward the race-course. The centre of the valley had been cleared of under-brush, and the long grass burned under the watchful eye of the fire-ranger. A small creek and a few swampy places had been “corduroyed” with cedar poles and then covered with soil. A judges’ stand, with a few hastily erected seats for Janet’s party, stood near the finishing point. The horse-race, as has been said, was to be the feature event of the day. The crowd surged happily from the lake-shore to line up in orderly ranks about the oval.
The brilliant and diversified colours of the Klootchmen’s skirts and head-gear showed in bright contrast to the drab wearing apparel of the white men. The Siwash Indians were dressed in nondescript clothing as to trousers and coat, but one and all wore side-brimmed cowboy hats and displayed silk handkerchiefs of gorgeous hues, knotted at the throat to drape their shoulders carelessly.
Three husky farmers’ sons from Pemberton rode to the starting-line amid hearty hand-clapping and shouting from their friends. A swarthy-skinned rider, mounted on a spirited black cayuse, came prancing through the crowd. He lifted his hat and smiled in acknowledgment of the plaudits of the spectators. This was Joe Lafonte, the half-breed who had won first prize at the Lillooet races for the past two seasons.
The wise ones averred that Paul John, of the Indian contingent, would give him a hard race. Paul John’s cayuse was young, but the previous year he had run the half-breed’s horse a close second. Money was being placed on all sides, particularly by the Indians, who are inveterate gamblers. Amid an excited babble in Chinook, nine Indian riders came laughing and shouting, with much waving of hats, to prance about and display their horsemanship before the admiring crowd.
Donald, with Andy, Gillis and Wainwright, stood leaning over the edge of the judges’ stand watching the animated scene below.
At this moment there was an agitation at the far end of the oval, where the crowd opened to admit a horse and rider that came tearing down the course like the wind.
“Look!” Donald shouted excitedly as he seized Wainwright’s arm. “It’s Connie!”
Down the course, riding like a spirit of the woods, came the girl, her golden hair blowing about her face, sitting astride her mettlesome horse and riding as if the wilderness belonged to her alone.
Pegasus was not used to crowds. With arched neck and quivering flanks he reared on his hindlegs to poise an instant, then leaped forward like a rabbit. Connie sat on the bare back of her adored cayuse as though a part of the animal, her slender body moving in gentle undulations in perfect co-ordination with the movements of the horse. She was hard set to keep from running over the other riders, who sat with mouths agape.
Connie was unknown to the greater part of the crowd. To them this child-like equestrienne, with her mass of shining hair, appeared as an apparition. Her firm little hands soon checked her turbulent mount, who stood trembling with nervousness. The crowd gave her a rousing welcome as soon as they had recovered from their astonishment.