“Heroine,” he said, “I think we’ve scared that crowd about long enough. Now, punish Behren.” He sank his spurs into the horse’s sides and jerked her head towards a little opening between Lady Betty and Chubb. Heroine sprang at it like a tiger and came neck to neck with the leader. And then, as she saw the wide track empty before her, and no longer felt the hard backward pull on her mouth, she tossed her head with a snort, and flew down the stretch like an express, with her jockey whispering fiercely in her ear.
Heroine won with a grand rush, by three lengths, but Charley’s face was filled with anxiety as he tossed up his arm in front of the judges’ stand. He was covered with mud and perspiration, and panting with exertion and excitement. He distinguished Mr. Curtis’ face in the middle of the wild crowd around him, that patted his legs and hugged and kissed Heroine’s head, and danced up and down in the ecstasy of delight.
“Mr. Curtis,” he cried, raising his voice above the tumult of the crowd, and forgetting, or not caring, that they could hear, “send some one to the stable, quick. There’s a thousand dollars there Behren offered me to pull the horse. It’s under a plank near the back door. Get it before he does. That’s evidence the Racing Board can’t—”
But before he could finish, or before Mr. Curtis could push his way towards him, a dozen stable boys and betting men had sprung away with a yell towards the stable, and the mob dashed after them. It gathered in volume as a landslide does when it goes down hill; and the people in the grand stand and on the coaches stood up and asked what was the matter; and some cried “Stop thief!” and others cried “Fight!” and others said that a bookmaker had given big odds against Heroine, and was “doing a welsh.” The mob swept around the corner of the long line of stables like a charge of cavalry, and dashed at Heroine’s lodgings. The door was open, and on his knees at the other end was Behren, digging at the planks with his finger-nails. He had seen that the boy had intentionally deceived him; and his first thought, even before that of his great losses, was to get possession of the thousand dollars that might be used against him. He turned his fat face, now white with terror, over his shoulder, as the crowd rushed into the stable, and tried to rise from his knees; but before he could get up, the first man struck him between the eyes, and others fell on him, pummelling him and kicking him and beating him down. If they had lost their money, instead of having won, they could not have handled him more brutally. Two policemen and a couple of men with pitchforks drove them back; and one of the officers lifted up the plank, and counted the thousand dollars before the crowd.
Either Mr. Maitland felt badly at having doubted Charley, or else he admired his riding; for he bought Heroine when Behren was ruled off the race tracks and had to sell his horses, and Charley became his head jockey. And just as soon as Heroine began to lose, Mr. Maitland refused to have her suffer such a degradation, and said she should stop while she could still win. And then he presented her to Charley, who had won so much and so often with her; and Charley gave up his license and went back to the farm to take care of his mother, and Heroine played all day in the clover fields.
BY GEORGE BIRD GRINNELL
The Wolf Hunters
A STORY OF THE BUFFALO PLAINS
Edited and arranged from the Manuscript Diary of
Robert M. Peck
Illustrated. $1.35 net; postage extra