In coincidence the two men, Mortimer and Crane, had similar thoughts
the day after Mr. Dolman's discussion; and, rather remarkably,
their deductions were alike, having the same subject of mental
retrospect--Allis Porter.
It was evident that outside of her family little interested her but
horses; certainly not a very lofty aspiration. When the conversation had
dealt with broad principles, men and their shortcomings, the previous
evening, she had centralized it in Lauzanne, picturing him as symbolical
of good acts and evil repute. Patently it was difficult to become
interested in such a young woman; actually she monopolized their
thoughts. Inconsistently the fair offender felt no recoil of this
somewhat distressing situation; her mind busied itself chiefly over the
reclamation of Lauzanne.
By inheritance all the qualities of a good horse had come to him except
a submissive temper. Allis worked on the theory that his disposition
had been set awry by injudicious handling; that unlimited patience would
cause him to forget all that. He could gallop, else he had not won the
race in which he beat The Dutchman. That he had needed a stimulant that
day was because he had been soured and would not try with his wits about
him. From the time of coming back to Ringwood Allis had ridden him in
all his exercise gallops, and had asked Mike personally to supervise his
stable education. It had taken all her great patience, all her youthful
enthusiasm and faith, for the Chestnut had notions beyond all belief. At
first, missing the abuse, he almost seemed to thirst for it; tried the
gentle girl in every way--sulked, and loafed, and took little streaks of
trying to cut the course, and made false breaks as though he were going
to run with a full vigor; even laid hold of the horses with his teeth
when opportunity offered. These antics did not break the girl's faith;
she rode him with the gentle hand a woman knows and a horse soon learns
to appreciate, and gave him to understand that he was to have fair
treatment.
Porter viewed this continuous performance with silent skepticism. He did
not abuse horses himself, neither did he put up with too much nonsense
from them. To him they were like children, needing a lot of tolerant
kindness, but, also, at times, to be greatly improved by a sound
whipping. Once when he suggested something of this sort to Allis,
saying that Lauzanne was a spoiled child, she admitted he was, but that
thoughtless cruelty and not indulgence had done the harm, therefore
kindness was the cure. The first sign of regeneration was the implicit
faith that Lauzanne began to place in his young mistress. At first when
she put up a hand to pet him he would jerk his head away in affright;
now he snuggled her shoulder, or nibbled at her glove in full spirit of
comradarie. Then one day in a gallop came a stronger manifestation,
a brief minute of exhilaration, with after-hours of thankfulness, and
beyond that, alas for the uncertainty of a spoiled temper, an added
period of wallowing in the Slough of Despond!
It was on a crisp, sparkling morning, and with Shandy--it was before his
downfall--on Lucretia, another stable lad, Ned Carter, on Game Boy, and
Allis on Lauzanne, the three swung off for a working gallop of a mile or
more. Lauzanne was in an inquisitive mood, as the other two raced on
in front. What was his light-weighted rider up to anyway? Why did she
always leave it to him to do just as he liked? Was she really deceiving
him? Did she wish him to lie back there behind the others always? He
fell to wondering what she would do if he were to take hold of the bit
and spread his big muscles in one rushing gallop, and go on past the
others and get home to the feed box first. He rattled the snaffle in his
mouth with nervous indecision--he had a notion to try it.
“Steady, my boy!” said Allis, as she slipped the reins back through her
fingers till they stretched tight. A dozen times she had sought in vain
to make him think she did not wish him to gallop, but something in the
crisp air this morning threw him off his guard. Why should he be forced
to lag behind? He stretched the arch of his neck straight till the bit
held hard in his mouth; the ears pitched forward in eager point; the
great frame under the girl quivered and sank closer to earth; the roar
of his beating hoofs came up to her ears, muffled by the drive of the
wind that was now a gale as the Chestnut raced into it with the speed
of an express. How her heart sang! Here was speed, and with such
stride--strong, and straight, and true! Low she crouched, and her call
to Lauzanne was but a joyous whisper. Her small hands were framed in
steel, strength to steady the big Chestnut as he swung round the course
glued to the rail. On Lauzanne sped, and to the rhythm of his big
heaving quarters the girl's soul sang a song of delight. At last, at
last was coming her reward.
And then, just when everything had been achieved, when the great
gallop had brought them half up the stretch, something came to
Lauzanne--perhaps the memory of the whipping finishes; at any rate, he
curled up like a dog, threw his ears back--Allis could feel the sudden
stiff prop of the forelegs as he set himself against the rush of
speed--and in a dozen strides he was Lauzanne again, Lauzanne the
Despised.
And so it had gone on for weeks, Allis working out her theory up to the
time of the trouble over Diablo. There was something in the girl's quiet
determination that was masterful; perhaps that was why she had always
had her own way at home. Now this mastery was spreading out wonderfully;
Lauzanne, and Mike, and her father, and Crane, and Mortimer, all in
different degrees of subjection, but, as Fate knew, all subject.
Mrs. Porter's continual lament on the subject of racing had given Crane
a keynote for his line of action. It was the day following her scoring
of the tolerant husband that Crane revisited Ringwood full of his new
idea.
He had an impulse to buy back Lauzanne. For almost the first time in
his life he experienced twinges of remorse; this was because of Allis.
Porter's affairs were in a bad way, and he would probably accept eagerly
an offer from Crane to lighten his load. Individually he cared little for
Porter's financial troubles, but it was a good opportunity to prepare
the way for a stronger pressing of his suit with the girl. With his
usual fine discrimination he spoke to Mrs. Porter first, intimating
never so slightly that her words had won his entire sympathy; that if
her husband would sell any of the horses he would buy them.
There was a convincing sincerity about Crane at all times; what he did
he did with the full vigor of a man believing in its truth. One
might almost have suspected that he deceived himself, that he had no
conception of the unrighteousness of his acts. At any rate, he imposed
most successfully upon the mother of Allis. Quite egotistically she
attributed to herself the trend of his friendship. In racing phrase,
Crane was out for a killing and playing his cards with consummate skill.
With the master of Ringwood he went very straight to the point. This
was possible, as Porter could not hesitate to discuss his financial
condition with his banker. Crane offered to buy Lucretia; this with
him was purely a speculation, but Porter would not part with his little
mare. Then the banker spoke of Lauzanne, saying that he felt somewhat
guilty since learning the previous evening that the horse had been
doped. Porter failed to see where Crane had anything to do with it. But
the latter insisted that he had unwittingly helped Langdon by speaking
of Lauzanne as a good horse. He had known nothing of the matter, beyond
that his trainer had assured him the horse would win; in fact, he had
backed him.
Porter laughed at the idea that responsibility could attach to Crane. As
to the Chestnut, he was not worth a tenth of the three thousand he had
cost--that was well known; and if Crane or any other man sought to
buy him at that price it would savor too much of charity. At any rate,
Lauzanne belonged to Allis, and Crane would have to bargain with her.
Then there was Diablo, Crane said; his presence was a menace to Miss
Porter.
“I've nursed him for a good while,” Porter replied, “and he's a bad
betting proposition--he's too uncertain. You don't want such a horse as
that--nobody does. I'll keep him a bit longer, and put him in a handicap
or two where the purse will be worth running for, and I won't have to
back him; he'll get in with a featherweight, and some day may take it
into his head to gallop, though he's a rank bad one.”
Crane did not press the point; he understood Porter's motives
throughout. He knew the master of Ringwood was an unchanging man, very
set in his ways, adhering closely to his plans and opinions. So Crane
went back to Brookfield without purchasing a horse, saying as he left,
“I claim first privilege when you wish to sell.”
He had talked to Porter in the stable, and Mike, busy near by, heard
that part of their conversation referring to the horses.
“They haven't got money enough in the bank to take the little mare from
us yet, have they, Mike?” Porter said to Gaynor, full of his pride in
Lucretia.
“That they haven't, sor,” replied Mike, proudly. “But, faith, I wish th'
gint hadn't come a-tryin' to buy her; it's bad luck to turn down a big
offer fer any horse.”
Porter smiled indulgently. This stable superstition did not appeal to
him.
“It would a-broke the bad luck, sor, to have let him took the Black.”
“It would have broken his bank, you mean, Mike.”
“Well, he'll break somewan's back here yet, an' I'm tellin' you that
sthraight. They say a black cat's full av th! divil, but Diablo's ould
Nick hisself, though I'm sayin'it was th' b'y Shandy's fault sp'ilin'
him. An' if it wasn't fer Miss Allis it's a pity you couldn't a-sold
him the Chestnut. He's a sawhorse--he's as heavy in th' head as a bag of
salt; he'll never do no good to nobody. Them's the kind as kapes a man
poor, eatin' their heads off, an' wan horse, or maybe two, in the
stable earnin' th' oats fer them. It's chaper to cut th' t'roats av such
cattle.”
“I believe you're right, Mike,” Porter answered, quietly, as he left the
stable.
Crane, driving back to Brookfield, turned over in his mind the matter
of his mission. He was satisfied. He had succeeded in the main objective
point. It would have been a good move to have acquired Lucretia, to have
tempted her owner to part with her for ready money in sight. The money
would soon have disappeared; then Porter, with a lot of bad horses on
his hand, would almost certainly have come more firmly into the grasp
of Crane. The offer to buy Lauzanne had been a bit of saving grace, a
faint, generous impulse, begot of Allis's regenerating influence; but
Crane had discovered that Porter did not at all suspect him of interest
in the fraud--that was a great something. He had also established
himself firmly in Mrs. Porter's good graces, he could see. It would be
indeed strange if in the end he did not succeed completely.