She was wildly excited over the first race, and had the good fortune to pick out the winner. As a consequence, the men all insisted on her betting on the second one, putting up gloves and candy recklessly. To their surprise, their overtures were promptly snubbed, the little Virginian looking so hurt at such a proposition that her big eyes showed a suspicion of tears. The other ladies of the party, however, took up the bets with avidity, though their opportunities were decidedly more limited.
At last the great race of the day was called. A grey horse named Quicksilver was the hot favorite in it, and was to be ridden by a colored jockey. This last fact caught Carter’s attention, and sent her thoughts flying wistfully Southward, and she was further interested because he wore the Confederate colors—white and red. She could not see his face, but it was easy to distinguish the silver-grey horse, and, to her delight, it came in first, though pushed hard by another horse named Hautboy.
The second heat was even more exciting, for now Quicksilver came tearing along the home stretch, neck and neck with Hautboy.
The two ran together superbly, their jockeys poised like birds upon their backs, but just before the judges’ stand was reached, there was a wild plunging and collision, and Hautboy came in ahead.
And then began a scene of frantic excitement. The little mulatto who had ridden Quicksilver was in a state of fury, bordering upon insanity. He vowed that Hautboy’s jockey had used some trickery, and appealed to the judges, who refused to sustain him. At this he went simply beside himself, and tossing away his whip, declared he would not ride the other heat. Threats, expostulations, bribes, oaths, abusive epithets, coaxing cajoleries were used in vain. He was simply maddened with fury, and stubbornly adhered to his refusal.
Quicksilver, meanwhile, was being walked about, switching his tail viciously and glaring wickedly to right and left. He was an evil-tempered brute, and this young darkey was the only rider who seemed equal to him. Immense sums had been put up on the race and desperate measures were resorted to to bring the obstreperous jockey to his reason.
But it was all in vain. He reiterated his refusal with excited fury. He said a million dollars wouldn’t make him ride the other heat, and that he’d die first.
All this time Carter had been watching the scene with eagerness, their coach being very near to the judges’ stand, and now, as the little darkey, bearing her beloved Southern colors, turned his defiant face upward toward the judges’ stand, and she saw it clearly for the first time, a suspicion, which had been slowly dawning on her, was turned into reality—a reality that thrilled her through with excitement.
“He must do it! He shall!” she said, in a low tone to Jim Stafford. “Take me down there, and I’ll make him!”
Stafford looked at her aghast. He was excited enough himself, for the time was flying, and, with a little more delay, the race would be declared off.