"VAMOSE!"
"Oh, I don't know," said Bud quietly, as Sol Flatbush made this
announcement of the ability of Magpie, or Idlewild, as he was known
elsewhere.
"But I do," urged Sol. "I see that hoss run at Ponca City on ther Fo'th
o' July a year ago, an' he jest run away from ther best Indian racers
what ther Osages could bring over, an' yer knows they kin go some."
"Sol, my son, don't git excited. Yer Uncle Bud knows what he's doin'
when he's going inter this yere race. He ain't tellin' ther ole man, nor
none o' you fellers, what thar is in thet Hatrack hoss."
"Got somethin' up yer sleeve?"
"I reckon I hev. If I was a bettin' man, I'd wager my share o' Moon
Valley that Hatrack would win this yere race."
"Sho; yer don't say!"
"Ted seen him run. Ask him. Now, don't you worry none about me. I know a
hoss when I see one standin' on its four legs. That magpie hoss is a
good one, whether his name is Magpie or Idlewild. Ther name don't make
him run no better. But Hatrack is some, too, an' I want that magpie pony
for Stella. She ain't got no hoss of her own down yere, an' that spotted
pony is jest ther sort o' showy hoss what a gal likes."
"Well, I ain't wantin' ter be buttin' in none," said Sol, in a
crestfallen way.
"Yer ain't butted in none, Sol. I'm obliged ter yer fer givin' me ther
tip erbout ther old sharp. When he fust braced me I sized him up fer a
sharp, an' when he told me he was a hoss trader from Missouri I had a
straight line on him."
They returned to camp, where the old man was still regaling the boys
with anecdotes, having proved himself a most entertaining story-teller.
The boy sat close beside him listening, but never saying a word, except
when he was addressed. He was small and slender, and evidently weighed
much less than a hundred pounds.
His face was small and thin, and apparently youthful, but his eyes were
old and shrewd, and there was a crafty look about his face at times when
the old man brought out a point in a story. Evidently he had heard these
stories many times before. When he smiled it was in a sly and furtive
way.
Ted Strong had come in from riding around the herd, having inspected it
before it was bedded down for the night. He had heard all about the
proposed race, and smiled quietly as Ben joshed Bud about the loss of
his pony Hatrack on the morrow.
He had looked the boy over carefully, and his impression was not
pleasant.
"I tell yer what, boys," said the old man, when conversation began to
lag. "S'posin' we put this race off until to-morrow afternoon, an' run
it over at Snyder, across the line in Oklahomy?"
"What's ther occasion?" asked Bud.
"Jest ter give ther people over thar a chance ter see a real live race.
Besides, I'm out o' money, an' I reckon we could have a reg'lar race,
an' charge admission. That would enable me an' my grandson ter git back
ter ole Missou' again. We ain't much use out here. What d'yer say?"
"I ain't no professional racer," said Bud slowly, "an' I ain't in this
race fer what I kin make out o' it. Yer made yer brag about yer hoss an'
slurred mine, an' I'm jest game enough ter lose him if he can't beat
that calcimined hoss o' yours, but I don't go in fer bettin' er none o'
thet sort o' thing."
"I ain't said nothin' about bettin'," said the old man, in an injured
tone.
"I know yer ain't, an' I ain't accused yer o' it none. What I wuz goin'
ter say wuz thet if yer hard up an' need ther money ter take yer home
I'm ther first feller ter jump in ter help yer."
"We're all willing to help on a thing like that," said Ted.
"Then ye'll consent ter pull off ther race in Snyder?" asked the old man
eagerly.
"I am, if ther other boys will consent ter it," said Bud.
"All right with me," said Ted, and the other boys voiced their assent.
It looked as if there was a good bit of fun in prospect.
"Thanks, boys," said the old man, with a catch in his voice, as if he
was deeply touched. "Ye'll do a good turn fer me an' little Bill here.
Bill, we'll git home fer Christmas yit."
"If you're going to make it a public race, you'll have to get over to
Snyder early to make arrangements," said Ted.
"I'll leave before sunup in ther mornin', an' we'll have the race at
three o'clock. Is that all satisfactory?"
This proved satisfactory to the boys, and, having agreed to be on hand
in time with Hatrack, every one turned in.
When the boys turned out in the morning the blankets which the old man
and the boy had occupied were empty and cold, showing that they had
departed long before daylight.
"There's something fishy about that old chap," said Ben Tremont, as they
were at breakfast.
"Of course, there is," said Ted. "He's an old horse sharp. Sol Flatbush
knows him. He wants a race in town, thinking he can draw us into
betting. He doesn't know that we never gamble, but he evidently believes
that in the excitement of the moment he will be able to get some of our
money."
"Well, he'll get fooled on that," said Ben.
"He'll git fooled in several other ways, too," grunted Bud.
After breakfast Bud went out and roped Hatrack, and after a tussle that
lasted several strenuous minutes, brought him into camp. Hatrack
certainly was a sorry-looking beast.
His long, dirty, yellowish-brown hair was rumpled and fluffed up. His
ribs showed sharp, and his tail was full of burs, while his short and
scraggy mane was missing in spots.
His flanks had been rubbed bare of hair where he had lain for many
nights on the rocks and in the sands of the desert.
"Well, dog my cats, if he ain't ther orneriest-lookin' beast what ever
toted a saddle," said Bud, looking him over, as Hatrack stood with
drooping head and ears.
"Bud, he isn't worth making cat's meat out of," said Ben. "I guess you
made that race to get rid of him. It's easier and more humane than
shooting him or abandoning him to the prairie wolves."
"Reckon so?" asked Bud, looking at Ben out of the corner of a twinkling
eye.
"Oh, dear me, but he's awfully ugly," said Stella, coming from the tent
which she and her aunt, Mrs. Graham, occupied a short distance from the
camp.
She was as spick and span as a new dollar, nattily dressed in a
bifurcated riding skirt, from beneath which peeped a pair of high tan
riding boots.
Her white Stetson had just the right curl of brim to be most becoming,
and her wavy hair fell in profusion over her shoulders.
She was pulling on a pair of fringed gauntlets, and her braided quirt,
with a silver knob for a handle, hung by its thong from her slender
wrist.
"Now, see here, Stella, don't yer go ter feelin' knocky about yer mount,
er yer won't hev no confidence in him, an' will lose. I want ter say ter
yer right now that this hoss what looks like ther last rose o' summer,
ther last run o' shad, an' ther breakin' up o' a hard winter in a last
year's bird's nest, is all right, an' he can't lose this race. Ride him
true, an' don't give him ther gad none. All yer got ter do is ter
encourage him by a word now an' then, an' pilot him straight ter ther
wire."
"All right, Bud. I was only joking," laughed Stella. "It isn't the
prettiest horse that wins the race. I know that well, but, you see, like
every girl, I like pretty things, and a horse might as well look good as
run fast. It has always seemed to me that the two go together."
During the middle of the forenoon the broncho boys started for the town
of Snyder to attend the race.
Bud led Hatrack, and a troublesome job he had of it, for the animated
skeleton objected to being on the halter, as any self-respecting range
horse would, and he pulled back and sideways and almost dragged Bud from
his saddle several times.
"Ding bat yer," Bud would shout, "yer ornery, unsanctified, muley,
harebrained, contaminated son o' a zebra, git down on yer feet an'
foller. Ye'll git all that's comin' ter yer when ther race starts. Save
yer sweat until then."
But Hatrack thought differently, and before they were halfway to Snyder
it took all the efforts of Bud in the lead and Ben, Kit, and Clay
Whipple in the rear, to keep him moving in a forward direction.
Only enough boys were left with the herd to keep it from scattering.
Ted and Stella rode in the lead as they entered the town, which was
crowded with a motley assemblage of cow-punchers, gamblers, and Indians
in their gay blankets and with painted faces.
The Indians of the plains are keen on horse racing, and among the
various tribes are to be found some of the fleetest horses in the West,
many of them trained to all the tricks of racing. An Indian jockey is
the shrewdest of his class, and is an adept at all the tricks of the
trade.
"Hi! Look at the livin' skeleton!"
Bud swung around in his saddle and stared at a cow-puncher standing on
the sidewalk in Snyder, as he rode into town dragging behind him the
dejected Hatrack, who looked as if he had been living on two oats for
dinner and a spear of grass for supper all his life.
He ambled along like a tired and footsore dog behind Bud, with his ears
drooping and his toes kicking up the dust. He was a sad-looking animal,
and the word having gone abroad that he was the horse that was to enter
the race with Magpie, he was jeered from one end of the street to the
other, as Bud led him to the corral at the edge of the town. Bud
pretended to be angry at the joshing his steed received, but when he had
turned his back upon the jokers he would wink gently to himself in a way
that would have been puzzling to the supporters of the spotted horse.
Cap Norris had done his work well.
Every one in town knew of the coming race, and word had been sent to the
ranches in the surrounding country, so that before noon the streets were
crowded with people.
"Say, fellows," said Ted, when the boys met at the hotel for dinner,
"this fellow Norris is sure a sharp. That talk about his wanting to get
enough money to take him back home was a lie. He's a gambler, and is in
league with a bunch of gamblers in this town."
"How do you know?" asked Ben.
"How do I know? Why, man alive, they're betting on Magpie all over town.
The tip seems to have gotten out that Bud Morgan and the broncho boys
have a surprise up their sleeves, and that they are going to ring in
another horse than Hatrack."
"How is that?"
"They believe we're going to slip in another horse, a professional
racing horse with a record."
"Let 'em think so. It won't be a professional race horse--at least, not
in this country--that we will put in, but jest ole Hatrack, an' if he
don't win the race by a city block I'll eat him, hoofs an' all."
"Put us next, Bud," said Ben.
"That's what," said Kit. "You've sure got a trick concealed somewhere.
What is it?"
"No, I haven't," said Bud. "But if I wuz a bettin' man I know what hoss
I'd back to win."
That was all the boys could get out of him on the subject, but they were
convinced none the less that Bud had a secret concerning the horse, and
that they would learn what it was in good time.
The race was to be held at the fair grounds, and was to be a dash of
three hundred yards.
Cap Norris would not consent to a longer race, although Bud said he
would run Hatrack any distance up to a quarter of a mile, but the
innocent old man with the long whiskers objected to running his horse a
long distance.
As the hour approached for the race, the grounds began to fill up.
Several races between Indian ponies took place to keep the crowd amused
until the big race of the day was to come off.
"They've been working us," said Ted, coming up to where Stella and the
boys were standing beside Hatrack, which looked more sad and dejected
than ever.
"In what way?" asked Bud.
"This race is a gambling game to get the money away from the innocents,"
answered Ted. "They've had men going among the people from the country
and the cow-punchers, telling them that it is a put-up job on our part,
and that we're sure to win. In that way they have got a lot of people to
bet on Hatrack. I've a good mind to draw out of it altogether and spoil
their game."
"For fear the innocents will lose their money?" asked Bud.
"Yes. I don't want to be a party to robbing those fellows."
"Don't you worry. If you want to punish Norris and his friends, don't
interfere. Let it go on, I tell you. They'll be the worst-beaten lot o'
crooks that ever robbed a town."
"All right, Bud, if you say so."
It was now time for the race of the day, and Bud and Norris marked off
the course.
Ben was appointed judge, with a large man, apparently a stranger in the
town, who was chosen by Norris, and the two selected a third.
The third man was a stranger to Ben, but he picked him out of the crowd,
and the other judge accepted him.
As Stella climbed into the saddle, Hatrack gave two or three kittenish
jumps, and the crowd yelled. It had not expected this added feature to
the race, a girl jockey.
Shout after shout went up as she rode over the course slowly, Hatrack
having settled down into his usual dejected manner. The cheers and some
of the jeers that greeted him came from the men who had been induced to
bet on him.
"Now, Stella," said Bud, as Stella rode back again, "when you start,
shout 'Vamose!' in Hatrack's ear. That's the word he has always been
sent away with. Stick tight, an' let him go. Don't forget the word
'Vamose!'"