She gently patted his cheek. He went on: "What do you think I should do?"
"Nothing for three days; then we'll see."
They galloped for half a mile, and every sign of worry was gone from his face as they reined their horses in at the stable of Fort Ryan.
CHAPTER XXXV
When the Greasewood is in Bloom
Big things were in the air, as all the horsemen knew. Blazing Star had wintered well and, being a four-and-a-half-year-old, was in his prime. Red Rover in the adjoining stable was watched with equal care. Prairie hay was judged good enough for the country horses; but baled timothy, at shocking prices, was brought from Pierre for the two racers; and, after a brief period of letdown on clover and alfalfa, the regular routine diet of a race horse was begun, as a matter of course. Little Breeches had left, chiefly because of unpleasant remarks that he continued to hear in the stable. He had taken a springtime job among the cattle. So Peaches, having no other string to his bow, allowed the officers "to secure his services as second assistant trainer," as he phrased it, or, as they with brutal simplicity put it, "as stable boy." He accepted this gravely responsible position on the explicit understanding that allusions to the late race were in bad taste.
Why should these two horses be so carefully trained? There was no race on the calendar. No, but every one assumed that there would be a challenge, and nobody dreamed of declining it. So, one day when all the plains were spangle-glint with grass and bloom, the sentry reported horsemen in the south, a band of Indians, probably Sioux. It was an hour before they halted near the Fort, and Red Cloud, on a fine strong pony, came with his counsellors around him to swing his hand in the free grace of the sign talk, to smoke and wait, and wait and smoke, and then speak, as before, on the Colonel's porch.
"Did the Soldier High Chief want a race this year?"
"Sure thing," was all the interpreter had to transmute.