During this time there was a bustle of much interest in the paddock.
Allis, ready dressed in the Porter colors, had been driven to the
course half an hour before the time set for the Derby. Her face was as
satisfactorily disguised with dust as though she had ridden three races.
Mike assiduously attended to every detail; even the weighing, thanks to
his officious care, was a matter of not more than one minute. The girl's
weight was one hundred and ten pounds, the saddle brought it up to
one hundred and thirteen. She would have to ride at least two pounds
overweight, for the horse's impost was one hundred and eleven. Lauzanne
was being led in a circle by a boy, so Allis shielded herself from the
general gaze in his empty stall. She felt quite sure that nobody there
would recognize her, unless, perhaps, Philip Crane. He was rarely seen
in the paddock, but might this day come out to view The Dutchman. The
latter horse came in for a great deal of attention, for he had been
steadily backed down to the position of equal favorite with White Moth.
At last there was the summons to saddle, and Lauzanne was brought into
the stall by Dixon. Then the door was shrouded by an ever-changing
semicircle of curious observers. Allis gave a little start and turned
her head away as Crane, pushing through the others, stood just inside
the stall and spoke to Dixon.
“Your horse looks very well; I hope you win, if I don't.”
“He's as good as we could make him,” answered the Trainer, as he
adjusted the weight cloth.
“Is Miss Porter here?” were Crane's next words, quite in the tone of a
casually interested friend.
“She may be in the stand,” Dixon answered, without turning his head.
Mike had deliberately interposed his body between Allis and the doorway.
To the girl's relief, without further comment, Crane quietly moved away.
“Excuse me, Al, fer standin' in front av ye,” said Mike, “but these
outsiders is enough to make a b'y narvous the way they stare at him.
Alan Porter was in the paddock a minute ago askin' fer his sister, but I
hustled him out, telling him ye--I mean she--was in the stand.”
“Thank you, Mike; you're a good friend,” replied the girl, gratefully.
Dixon had never taken so much care over the preparation of a horse for a
race in all his life; and at last everything was as perfect as it could
possibly be made. Lauzanne's behavior gladdened the girl's heart; he was
as supremely indifferent to the saddling, to the staring of the people,
to the scent of battle that was in the soft summer air, as though he
were in his own stable at home. Not a muscle of his huge flank trembled.
Once, as the bridle rein was loosened for an instant, he half turned in
the stall, curved his neck and stretched his golden nozzle toward the
small figure in blue silk, as though he fain would make sure by scent
that one of his natural enemies, a man jockey, had not been thrust upon
him. Allis understood this questioning movement, and reaching out her
hand rubbed the gray velvet of his nose. But for the restraining rein,
tightened quickly by the boy who held him, Lauzanne would have snuggled
his head against his little mistress.
“They understand each other,” said Dixon to Mike, in an undertone;
“we'll get all that's in him this trip.”
“Bot' t'umbs up! if he doesn't come home alone I'll eat me hat. The
sharks'll get a knock this journey, that'll make 'em take a tumble to
themselves.”
Dixon stepped back to the corner where Allis was and said: “I guess I
can't give you no orders. He's a bit sluggish at the post, an' a few
false breaks won't hurt him none. Just don't be afraid, that's all. A
mile an' a half's a long journey, an' you'll have plenty of time to
take their measure. He's sure to get away last, but that won't matter;
there'll be plenty of openin's to get through after you've gone a mile.
Just keep your eye on The Dutchman--he's a stayer from 'way back; an'
Westley may kid you that he's beat comin' up the stretch, for he's slick
as they make them, an' then come with a rattle at the finish an' nose
you out on the post. Don't never let up once you're into the stretch;
if you're ten lengths ahead don't let the Chestnut down, but keep a good
holt on him, an' finish as though they was all lapped on your quarter.
There's a horse in the race I don't understand; he can no more get a
mile an' a half than I could; it's the Indian, an' why they're puttin'
up the startin' price beats me, unless”--and he lowered his voice to a
whisper--“there's a job to carry Lauzanne, or White Moth, or somethin'
off their feet. Just watch the Indian, an' don't let him shut you in on
the rail if you can help it. They've put up Redpath, an' that beats
me, too, for I think he's straight. But the Indian hasn't a ghost of a
chance to win. You'd better take a whip.”
“I don't want either whip or spurs,” answered the girl. “Lauzanne will
do better without them.”
“I know that, but take a whip--something else in the race might need it;
an' if you have to use it, use it good an' strong. If Langdon lodges an
objection I can make him quit.”
Over at The Dutchman's stall there was a very confident party. Their
horse would go to the post as fit as any thoroughbred had ever stripped.
Langdon was a great trainer--there was no doubt about that; if there had
been Crane would have discovered it and changed his executive officer.
The tall son of Hanover was lean of flesh, but gross in muscle. He was
as though an Angelo had chiseled with sure hand from his neck, and ribs,
and buttocks all the marble of useless waste, and left untouched
in sinewy beauty layer on layer, each muscle, and thew, and cord.
Flat-boned and wide the black-glossed legs, and over the corded form
a silken skin of dull fire-red. From the big eyes gleamed an expectant
delight of the struggle; not sluggishly indifferent, as was Lauzanne's,
but knowing of the fray and joyous in its welcome.
“He'll win on a tight rein,” confided Langdon to Jockey Westley; “he's
the greatest Hanover in the land. There's a dozen races bottled up in
that carcass”--and he slapped the big Bay lovingly on the rump”--but if
you're put to it, Bill, you can call on him fer the full dozen today.
There's nothin' to it but yourself and White Moth.”
Carelessly he stepped to the back of the stall, touching Westley as he
passed. Kicking the loose dirt with his toes, and bending his head to
bury his voice, Langdon continued in a subdued tone: “The Indian'll cut
out the pace so fast that it'll choke off Lauzanne. The Chestnut's a
plugger an' ain't no good when it comes to gallopin'. If you was to all
loaf aroun' he might hang on an' finish in front; but the pace'll kill
him--it'll break his heart; the fast goin'll lay out White Moth, too,
for she'll go to the front an' die away after a mile an' a quarter. Just
nurse the Bay, an' let the others fight the Indian. But don't loaf an'
let Lauzanne get near you, fer he can keep up a puddlin' gait all day.
There ain't nothin' else in the race I'm afraid of; there ain't one of
them can last a mile an' a half.” Then he added, with a disagreeable
chuckle--it was like the slobbering laugh of a hyena--“I miss my guess
if the boy on Lauzanne kills himself tryin' to win anyway. He seems a
fair lad, but you can ride rings 'round him, Bill.”
“I'll put up a good ride on The Dutchman, an' I think we'll ketch the
Judge's eye,” replied Westley. “It doesn't seem to stand for it that a
stable-boy on a bad horse like Lauzanne is goin' to beat me out.”
“The boss says you're to have two thousand fer winnin', Westley, so
don't make no mistake. I wasn't goin' to tell you this afore you went
out, fer fear it'd make you too eager. Many a race's been thrown away
by a boy bein' too keen, an' makin' his run too early in the game; but
you've a good head and might as well know what you're to have. There's
the bugle; get up.”
Eager hands stripped the blanket that had been thrown over The Dutchman;
Westley was lifted into the saddle, and the gallant Bay led out by
Langdon.
In front strode White Moth; one by one the others, and last, seventh,
Allis's fatal number, lagged Lauzanne, lazily loafing along as though he
regretted leaving the stall.
As the horses passed to the course, Crane, who had followed The Dutchman
to the gate, raised his eyes from scanning Lauzanne to the rider on his
back. It was just a look of languid interest in the apprentice boy Dixon
had put up instead of such a good jockey as Redpath. The face rivetted
his attention; something in the line of the cheek recalled a face he had
constantly in view.
“For an instant I thought that was Alan Porter on Lauzanne,” he said
to Langdon, who was at his elbow. “A strange fancy--I'm going up to the
stand to watch the race:”
“It's all roight but the win now,” said Mike to Dixon. “I'm goin' in be
the Judges' box to watch the finish. You'll be helpin' the b'y pass the
scales, Andy.”
As Allis passed the Judges' Stand in the parade she cast a quick,
furtive look toward the people on the lawn. She seemed pilloried on an
eminence, lifted up in pitiless prominence; would anyone detect her at
the last moment? Hanging over the rail in the very front she saw a pale
face that struck a chill of fear to her heart--it was Mortimer's.
She had not even thought of his being there. She had eluded the close
scrutiny of all the others who were likely to recognize her, but there,
within ten yards were eyes almost certain to penetrate her disguise. The
girl turned her face away; she knew Mortimer well enough to think that
if he did recognize her he would make no sign.
“That's our horse,” declared Old Bill, as Lauzanne passed. “He's all
right, bet yer life; he's fit ter go all day. De geezer as trains him
ain't no mug. Let's go up in de stand, where we can see de whole show;
den we'll come down an' cash in. Say, pard, if dis goes through I'll
blow you off to a bottle of de best; wine ain't none too good fer dis
coop.”
Altogether it was as though Destiny had found pleasant domicile in the
ancient clothing of Old Bill, and was using their unique wearer as a
protective agent to ward off evil from both Mortimer and the girl. As
they jogged toward the starting post Allis allowed Lauzanne to lag;
she wished to avoid Redpath. But the Indian was a horse of uncertain
temperament, and presently, with a foolish side rush, he cannoned fair
into Lauzanne. In the melee Redpath looked full into Allis's eyes at
short range. His face went white in an instant.
“You!” he cried, pulling hard at his horse's mouth; “it's you, Miss--”
He stopped suddenly. “God! I'm glad I know this,” he jerked between set
teeth, as he fought the Indian, who was nearly pulling him out of the
saddle.
“It's because he'll gallop for you, isn't it? You didn't think I was a
wrong one--it wasn't because you couldn't trust me you took the mount
away, was it?”
The Indian, quieted by the sleepy Chestnut, was going steadier. “No;
it's because Lauzanne won't give his running for anyone but me,” the
girl answered.
The boy remained silent, thinking over why he was on the Indian. There
was a moral obliquity about his present position; the new light of his
discovery showed him this strongly. His feelings had been played upon by
the owner of the Indian, at Langdon's instigation.
He had been told that the Porters had not given him the mount on
Lauzanne because they distrusted him. He had been put on the horse
to make running for The Dutchman. There was nothing really patently
dishonest about this arrangement, and Redpath's mind had been dulled to
fine discrimination by the idea that he was falsely distrusted.
Presently the boy spoke with sharp decision, in quick broken sentences,
for they were nearing the Starter. “I'm in to make the running; this
crock's got no license to win. Don't you bother about him--he'll come
back to the others fast enough when he's done. When you want an opening
to get through just come bang into me--I'll be next the rail; yell
'Lauzanne,' an' I'll pull out. I'll give them blasted crooks something
to stare at. Don't gallop your mount's head off chasing this sprinter;
he'll be beat when we swing into the stretch. Don't go wide at the turn;
you can have my place; I'll make it wide for something else though.”
They were at the post. Allis had not spoken; she had listened gratefully
to Redpath's string of kindly directions. The presence of a friend
in the race cheered her; the discovery she had dreaded had come as a
blessing.