The course near Ringwood had formerly been a trotting track, and
was still used at irregular intervals for the harness horses. In its
primitive days a small, square, box-like structure had done duty as
a Judges' Stand. With other improvements a larger structure had been
erected a hundred yards higher up the stretch.
It was to the little old stand that Shandy took his way. Inside he
waited for the coming of Gaynor's string of gallopers as supremely happy
in his unrighteous work as any evil-minded boy might be at the prospect
of unlimited mischief.
“Ned'll ride Diablo, sure; there's nothin' else to it,” he muttered.
“I hope he breaks his blasted neck. I'll pay 'em out fer turnin' me off
like a dog,” he continued, savagely, the small ferret eyes blazing
with fury. “I'll learn the damn--Hello!” His sharp ears had caught the
muffled sound of hoofs thudding the turf in a slow, measured walk. He
peeped between the boards.
“Yes, it's Mike. And the girl, too--blast her! She blamed me fer near
bein' eat alive by that black devil of a dope horse. Hell!”
This ambiguous exclamation was occasioned by the sight of his former
master springing into the saddle on Diablo's back.
“That's the game, eh? God strike me dead! I hope you git enough of
him. My arms ache yet from bein' near pulled out of the sockets by that
leather-mouthed brute. Gee, if the boss hasn't got spurs on! If he ever
tickles the Black wit' 'em--say, boys, there'll be a merry hell to pay,
and no pitch hot.”
The young Arab spoke to the boards as though they were partners in his
iniquity. Then he chuckled diabolically, as in fancy he saw Porter being
trampled by the horse.
“The girl's on Lauzanne,” he muttered; “she's the best in the lot, if
she did run me down. A ridin' that sorrel mut, too, when she ought to be
in the house washin' dishes. A woman ain't got no more business hangin'
'round the stable than a man's got in the kitchen. Petticoats is the
devil; I never could abide 'em.” Shandy sometimes harked back to his
early English Whitechapel, for he had come from the old country, and had
brought with him all the depravity he could acquire in the first five
years of his existence there.
“Ned's got the soft snap in that blasted bunch,” as his eye discovered
Carter on Lucretia. “He's slipped me this go, but I've nobbled the boss,
so I don't care. I'm next 'em this trip.”
As the three horses and their riders came on to the course he pulled out
a cheap stop-watch Langdon had equipped him with for his touting, and
started and stopped it several times.
“You'll pay fer their feed, you damn ole skinflint,” he was
apostrophizing Porter, “an' I'll be next the best they can do, an'
stan' in on the rake-off. Gee! I thought they was out fer a trial,” he
muttered, looking disconsolately at the three as they cantered the first
part of the journey. “I'll ketch 'em at the half, on the off chance,” he
added.
But though the timepiece in his hand clicked impatiently, after he
pressed the stem with his thumb, as Diablo's black nozzle showed past
the half-mile post, the three horses still cantered. Lauzanne was loping
leisurely with the action of a wooden rocking-horse. Lucretia, her long,
in-tipped ears cocked eagerly forward, was throwing her head impatiently
into the air as though pleading for just one strong gallop. Diablo's
neck was arched like the half of a cupid's bow; his head, almost against
his chest, hung heavy in the reins tight-drawn in Porter's strong hands.
His eyes, showing full of a suspicious whiteness, stood out from his
lean, bony head; they were possessed of a fretful, impatient look. Froth
flecked back from the nervous, quivering lips, and spattered against his
black satin-skinned chest, where it hung like seafoam on holding sand.
“Whoa! Steady, old boy!” Porter was coaxing soothingly. “Steady, boy!”
“The ease up has put the very deuce into this fellow,” he flung over
his shoulder to Allis, who was at Diablo's quarter. “He's a hard-mouthed
brute if ever there was one.”
“He'll be all right, dad,” she called forward, raising her voice, for
the wind cut her breath; “Shandy rode him with a heavy hand, that's
why.”
“I'll put a rubber bit in his mouth, to soften it,” he pumped brokenly.
“Let out a wrap, girl, and we'll breeze them up the stretch; come on.
Carter, get to the front with the mare.” A quarter of a mile from the
finish the horses raced into a swinging stride. Diablo was simply mad
with a desire to gallop; but in the saddle was his master; no horse
ever did as he wished with John Porter. Battling against the sharps
his honesty might handicap him out of the strife, but in the saddle the
elation of movement crept into his sinews, and he was superb, a king.
As a jockey, he would have been unsurpassed. It filled his heart with
delight to play with the fierce, imperious animal he rode.
“Steady, my boy--no you don't!” This as Diablo stuck his neck straight
out like an arrow and sought to hold the bit tight against the bridle
teeth, that he might race at his own sweet will. Back came the right
hand, then the left, three vicious saws, and the bit was loose and
Diablo's head drawn down again close to the martingale. Lucretia and
Lauzanne were pulling to the front.
“Go on!” called Porter to Ned Carter; “I want to see the little mare in
her stride. Take them out at three-quarter gallop down the back stretch.
I'll be treading your heels off.”
By this they were opposite the old stand, where Shandy was hiding. The
boy, surmising that a gallop was on, and anxious to see them as they
rounded the turn going down the back, had knocked a board loose to widen
the crack. As the horses came abreast, Shandy, leaning forward in his
eagerness, dislodged it at the top, and it fell with a clatter, carrying
him half through the opening. The wind was blowing fair across the
little stand, so the scent of the boy came to Diablo's nostrils at the
same instant the startling noise reached his nervous ears. In a swerve
he almost stopped, every muscle of his big body trembling in affright.
Porter was nearly thrown from his seat by this crouching side step;
the horse seemed to shrink from under him. Just for an instant, but the
reins had flapped loose against the wet neck and Diablo felt freedom.
With a snort he plunged forward like a wounded buck, and raced madly
after Lucretia, who had bolted when the crash came.
Porter had lost a stirrup in the sudden twist, and the reins had slipped
through his fingers as he grabbed the mane on Diablo's wither to pull
his weight back into the saddle.
Now the black neck was straight and taut, flatcapped by the slim ears
that lay close to the throatlatch. The thunder of his pounding hoofs
reached to the ears of Lucretia and Lauzanne in front, and urged them
onward. Carter had sat down in the saddle, and taken a steadying pull at
the brown mare. Even Lauzanne seemed lifted out of his usual lethargy,
and, widemouthed, was pulling Allis out of the saddle.
“Curse the brute!” gasped Porter, burying his knees in the saddle flaps,
and searching for the dangling stirrup with the toe of his right foot.
Once he almost had it, but missed; the iron, swinging viciously, caught
Diablo in the flank--it made little difference, his terror was complete.
All the time Porter was kneading the dangling reins back through
forefinger and thumb, shortening his hold for a strong pull at the
galloping brute's head.
“Who-o-o-a-h, who-o-o-ah, stead-y!” and, bracing himself against the
pummel he swung the weight of his shoulders on the reins. As well might
he have pulled at the rock of Gibraltar. Diablo's head was up, his teeth
set hard and the man's strength was as nothing against the full-muscled
neck of the big horse. Diablo was cutting down the lead the other two
held over him, galloping like a demon. Porter felt that he must loosen
the bit and throw that set head down to get command of the horse. One
fierce yank to the right and the black head swayed a trifle; another to
the left and--God in heaven! the rein snapped, and its loose end came
back, slashing the rider across the face. He reeled with the recoil,
nearly bringing Diablo to his knees with the sudden swing of weight on
the right rein. Porter's brain jerked foolishly for an instant; then he
was the trained horseman again, and had let the remaining leather slip
through his fingers a trifle.
“Go on!” he shouted to those in front; “go on--give me a lead! Hang to
the course!”
He realized now that the crazed brute under him must run himself out.
All he could do was to sit tight and wait till Diablo had raced himself
to a standstill. To use the one rein meant a crash into the rail, and
surely death. Before, he had thought only of the horse's welfare; now
it was a matter of his own life. All that remained to him was to keep a
cool head, a steady nerve, and wait.
Freed of restraint, not battled with, the Black's stride lengthened, his
nostrils spread wider, the hoofs pounded quicker and quicker until the
earth echoed with their palpitating beat. The other horses heard the
turmoil, and they, too, became more afraid, and took up the mad rush.
Diablo's reaching nose was at Lauzanne's hip when Allis took one swift
backward glance. She saw the dangling rein, the set look in her father's
face, the devil eyes of the horse, and for one breath-gasp her heart
fluttered in its beat. As quickly she put the fear from her, and
swinging Lauzanne a shade wide, left Diablo more room next the rail.
“On, Lauzanne!” she called through drawn lips; and hitched encouragingly
in the saddle.
Lucretia was still in front, her speed mocking at the swift rush of
Lauzanne and Diablo. But how the Black galloped! Every post saw him
creeping up on the Chestnut, and Allis riding and nursing him to keep
the runaway hemmed in at the turns, so that he could not crash through
the outer rail. No one spoke again. Each knew that nothing was left to
do but keep Diablo to the course, and ride, ride.
Just in front of Lauzanne, with swinging stride raced the brown mare,
waiting till the Chestnut should drop back beaten, to take up the
running with Diablo. That was Carter's good judgment; and he rode as
though it were the Derby, and he was nursing his mount for the last call
at the finish.
At the three quarters Lauzanne and Diablo were neck and neck; at the
half, the Black was lapped on Lucretia; another furlong and she was
laboring to keep her place, nose and nose with him.
“I'm done,” panted Carter, feeling the mare swerve and falter; “I'm
done--God help us!”
Still there was no check in the Black's gallop; he was like a devil that
could go on forever and ever.
They had turned into the straight with Lucretia a neck to the bad, when
Carter heard the girl's voice faintly calling, “Pull out, Ned!” The
boy thought it fancy. Lauzanne the Despised couldn't be there at their
heels. He had thought him beaten off long ago. But again the voice came,
a little stronger, “Pull out, Ned!”
This time there was no mistake. It might be a miracle, but it was
his duty to obey. As he galloped, Carter edged Lucretia to the right.
Without looking back he could feel Lauzanne creeping up between him and
Diablo. Soon the Chestnut's head showed past his elbow, and they were
both lapped on the Black. Halfway up the stretch Allis was riding
stirrup to stirrup with her father. Porter's weight was telling on
Diablo.
“She's got him. Lauzanne'll hold him if he doesn't quit,” Carter
muttered, as he dropped back, for Lucretia was blown.
Past the finish post Lauzanne was a head in front, and Diablo was
galloping like a tired horse.
“He's beat!” ejaculated Carter. “Hello! that's it, eh? My word, what a
girl!”
He saw Allis reach down for the slack rein running from her father's
hand to Diablo's mouth. “Missed! She's got it!” he cried, eagerly. “The
devil!”
As Allis grasped Diablo's rein, the horse, with sudden fury at being
drawn toward Lauzanne, his old foe, snapped at the Chestnut. As he did
so, thrown out of his stride, his forelegs crossed and he went down in
a heap with the rider underneath. The force of his gallop carried the
Black full over onto his back. He struggled to his feet, and stood,
shaking like a leaf, with low-stretched neck and fearcocked ears,
staring at the crushed, silent figure that lay with its face smothered
in the soft earth. In a dozen jumps Allis stopped Lauzanne, threw
herself from the saddle, and leaving the horse ran swiftly back to her
father.
“Oh, my God! he's dead, he's dead!” she cried, piteously, the nerve that
had stood the strain of the fierce ride utterly shattered and unstrung
at sight of the senseless form.
“He's not dead,” said Carter, putting his hand over Porter's heart.
“It's just a bad shake-up. Mike's coming, and we'll soon get him home.
He'll be all right, Miss Allis--he'll be all right,” he kept muttering
in a dazed manner, as he raised her father's head to his knee.
“Take Lucretia and gallop for the docthor, Miss 'Allis,” commanded Mike
coming up on the run. “We'll get yer father home in the buggy.”
“In God's mercy, don't let him die, Mike,” and bending down she pressed
her lips to the cold forehead that was driven full of sand. “Get him
home quick, and try not to let mother see. I'll take Lauzanne.”
Lauzanne had followed her and was standing waiting; his big eyes full of
a curious wonderment. Mike lifted Allis to the saddle. As he drew back
his hand he looked at it, then up at the girl. “Don't cry, Miss,” he
said, struggling a little with his voice that was playing him tricks;
“yer father's just stunned a bit. The dochtor'll brace him up all
right.”
“It's bad business, this,” he continued, as Allis galloped on her
errand, and he helped Carter lift the injured man. “There, that's
roight; jist carry his legs; I'll take him under the back.”
As they moved slowly toward the buggy that stood in the paddock, Diablo
followed at their heels as though he had done nothing in the world but
take a mild gallop. “Ye black divil!” muttered Mike, looking over his
shoulder; “ye've murthered wan av the best min as iver breathed. If I'd
me way, I'd shoot ye. I'd turn ye into cat meat; that's what ye'r fit
for!”
“What broke the rein?” he asked of Carter as they neared the buggy;
“what started thim goin'?”
“Somebody was in the old stand,” Carter replied, as putting his foot on
the step he raised himself and the dead weight of the limp man.
“There, steady, Ned. Pull the cushion down in the bottom. Now ye've got
it. Bot' t'umbs! it's as good as an ambulance. I'll hold his head in me
lap, an' ye drive. Here, Finn,” he continued, turning to the boy who
had caught and brought up Lucretia, “take the wee filly an' that divil's
baste back to the barn; put the busted bridle by till I have a good look
at it after. Go on, Ned; slow; that's it, aisy does it. When we get out
on the turnpike ye can slip along.”
When they had turned into the road he spoke again to Carter, “Ye were
sayin', Ned, there was a guy in th' ould stan'.”
“Yes,” replied Carter; “somebody was toutin' us off. A board broke, an'
that frightened the boss's mount.”
“I t'ought I see a b'y skinnin' off the track,” commented Gaynor. “First
I t'ought it was Shandy, but what'd he be doin' there? Did ye see his
face, Ned?”
“I was too busy takin' a wrap on Lucretia; she was gettin' a bit out of
hand.”
When they came to the gate which gave entrance to Ringwood house Mike
said to Carter, with rough sympathy in his voice: “Slip in ahead, Ned,
and tell the Misses that the boss has had a bit av a spill. Say he's
just stunned; no bones broke. Bot' t'umbs! though, I fear he's mashed to
a jelly. Ask fer a bottle of brandy till we give him a bracer. Ned!” he
called, as Carter slipped from the buggy, “see if ye kin kape the Misses
from seein' the boss till the docthor comes. Git hould of the girl
Cynthie, an' give her the tip that things is purty bad. Go on now; I'll
drive slow wid wan hand.”
Mike's kindly precautions were of little avail. Mrs. Porter saw the
slow-moving conveyance crawling up the broad drive, and instinctively
knew that again something terrible had occurred. That Allis was not
there added to her fear.
“He's just bad, ma'am,” Carter was saying, as Mike reached the steps.
But she didn't hear him; her face was white, and in her eyes was the
horror of a great fear, but from her lips came no cry; her silence was
more dreadful than if she had called out.
“We'll carry him, ma'am,” Mike said, as she came down the steps to the
buggy, and clutching the wheel rim swayed unsteadily. “Jest git a bed
ready, Misses,” Gaynor continued, softly; “git a bed ready, an' he'll be
all roight afther a bit. He's just stunned; that's all, just stunned!”
It was curious how the sense of evil had limited each one's vocabulary.
“Let me help,” pleaded Mrs. Porter, speaking for the first time.
“We'll carry him, Misses--he's just stunned,” repeated Mike, in a dreary
monotone, as feeling each step carefully with his toe he and Carter bore
the still senseless form into the house. The wife had got one of the
battered hands between her own, and was walking with wide, dry, staring
eyes close to her husband.
“O John, John! Speak to me. Open your eyes and look at me. You're not
dead; O God! you're not dead!” she cried, passionately, breaking down,
and a pent-up flood of tears coming to the hot, dry eyes as the two men
laid Porter on the bed that Cynthia had made ready.
“There, Misses, don't take on now,” pleaded Mike. “The boss is jest
stunned; that's all. I've been that way a dozen toimes meself,” he
added, by way of assurance. “Where's the brandy? Lift his head, Ned;
not so much. See!” he cried, exultantly, as the strong liquor caused
the eyelids to quiver; “see, Misses, he's all roight; he's jest stunned;
that's all. There's the dochtor now. God bless the little woman! She
wasn't long!”
The sound of wheels crunching the gravel, with a sudden stop at the
porch, had come to their ears.
“Come out av the room, Ma'am,” Mike besought Mrs. Porter; “come out av
the room an' lave the docthor bring the boss 'round.” He signaled to
Cynthia with his eyes for help in this argument.
“Yes, Mrs. Porter,” seconded Cynthia, “go out to the porch; Miss Allis
and I will remain here with the doctor to get what's needed.”
“Ah, a fall, eh,” commented Dr. Rathbone, cheerily, coming briskly into
the room. Then he caught Mike's eye; it closed deliberately, and the
Irishman's head tipped never so slightly toward Mrs. Porter.
“Now 'clear the room,' as they say in court,” continued the doctor, with
a smile, understanding Mike's signal. “We mustn't have people about
to agitate Porter when he comes to his senses. I'll need Cynthia, and
perhaps you'd better wait, too, Gaynor. Just take care of your mother,
Miss Allis. I'll have your father about in a jiffy.”
“He's jest stunned; that's all!” added Mike, with his kindly, parrotlike
repetition.
It seemed a million years to the wife that she waited for the doctor's
outcoming. Twice she cried in anguish to Allis that she must go in; must
see her husband.
“He may die,” she pleaded, “and I may never see his eyes again. Oh, let
me go, Allis, I'll come back, I will.”
“Wait here, mother,” commanded the girl. “Doctor Rathbone will tell us
if--if--” she could not finish the sentence--could not utter the dread
words, but clasping her mother's hands firmly in her own, kept her in
the chair. Once Mike came out and said, “He's jest stunned, Ma'am. The
docthor says he'll be all roight by an' by.”
“He won't die--”
“He's worth a dozen dead men, Ma'am; he's jest stunned; that's all!”
There was another long wait, then Dr. Rathbone appeared.
“Porter will be all right, Madame; it'll take time; it'll take time--and
nursing. But you're getting used to that,” he added, with a smile, “but,”
and he looked fixedly at Allis, “he must have quiet; excitement will
do more harm than the fall.”
“Tell me the truth, doctor,” pleaded Mrs. Porter, struggling to her
feet, and placing both hands on his shoulders, “I can stand it--see, I'm
brave.”
“I've told you the truth, Mrs. Porter,” the doctor answered. “There's no
fear for your husband's recovery if he has quiet for a few days.”
She looked into his eyes. Then crying, “I believe you, doctor; thank
God for his mercy!” swayed, and would have fallen heavily but for Mike's
ready arm.
“She'll be better after that,” said the doctor, addressing Allis. “It
has been a hard pull on her nerves. Just bathe her temples, and get her
to sleep, if you can. I'll come back soon. Your father is not conscious,
or will he be, I'm thinking, for a day or two. He has heavy concussion.
Cynthia has full directions what to do.”