Brilliant as a garden of flowers was the grand-stand where the fairest
of old Kentucky's wondrous women were as numerous as were her gallant
men; full of handsome figures were the lawns, where old Kentucky's youth
and manhood strolled and smoked and gossipped of the day's great race to
come; like an ebon sea in storm was the great crowd of blacks which in
certain well-defined limits crowded to the rail about the track. The
blare of the band kept the air a-tremble almost constantly, the
confused, uneven murmur of a great crowd filled the pauses between
brazen outbursts. Everywhere was life and gayety, intense excitement, as
the moment for the starting of the famous Ashland Oaks approached. The
cries of the book-makers rose, strident, from the betting-ring; on the
tracks the jockeys, exercising or trying out their mounts, were, each
after his own kind, preparing for the struggle of their lives;
stable-boys, and the hundred other species of race-track hangers-on
which swarm at such times to the front, were everywhere in evidence;
touts with shifty eyes slipped, here and there, among the sightseers,
looking for some credulous one who might be willing to pay well for
doubtful information. Every minute amidst the throng the words "Queen
Bess" might be heard at any chosen point, as the crowd gossipped eagerly
about the horse which had been looked on as the favorite, but which,
many positively now declared, had been so injured in the fire that she
would run but poorly in the race which, it had been thought, would be
the most sensational effort of her life.
Frank, nervous and excited, stood in the paddock, watch in hand, with
old Neb by his side.
"Why doesn't that jockey come?" he asked, for the hundredth time, almost
beside himself with worry as the moments slipped away.
"He'll come, Marse Frank," said Neb. "You kin gamble on de Cunnel."
"If I only knew what kind of a jockey he is!" Then, as Horace Holton
came up, smiling greetings: "Holton, how's the betting?"
"Can't you hear?" said Holton, as a vagrant breeze brought to their ears
bits of the vocal tumult from the betting-ring.
"Ten to nine against Queen Bess," Frank heard a voice call loudly,
although the crowd's great murmur made the words come indistinctly to
his ears. "Even on Catalpa," was the next penetrating cry, and then:
"Two to one, Evangeline!"
The young owner shuddered. Could it be possible that Neb was right and
that the Colonel's jockey would appear on time, or were the dire
predictions of defeat which, he knew, were being made everywhere around
him, true prophecies? Tales of all but fatal injuries to the handsome
mare had been freely circulated, and, despite denials in the newspapers,
were still alive, and these he knew to be quite false; but he knew of
the other dire disaster--the defection of his jockey--of which the crowd
was also well aware. He had not the slightest doubt that if Queen Bess
should run at all she would do all that her best friends expected of her
and more; but it seemed to him a possibility that he would find it
necessary, at the last minute, to withdraw her from the race entirely,
for sheer lack of a rider.
Again the breeze brought from the betting-ring the loud shouts of the
book-makers. The message that they told was most depressing to the
worried owner.
"Why, this morning she was the favorite," he said, "and now the odds are
all against her!"
Holton nodded. "On the strength o' this jockey as nobody knows. Got any
money on, yourself, Layson?"
"Not a cent. I've enough at stake, already."
Holton smiled unpleasantly, intimating that Frank's lack of betting on
his horse was proof positive that the worst tales told were true. "That
settles it. The bookies are right. Th' mare's no chance with a new
jockey, an' you know it."
"If I were betting," said Frank angrily, "I'd back her with every dollar
that I have on earth."
Holton smiled at him unpleasantly. "I say she can't win and you know
it." He waited for some answer from the anxious owner, but received
none. Then, taking out his check-book: "See here--I'll bet you
five-thousand even against her!"
Frank, annoyed but helpless, shook his head. "I haven't the money," he
admitted.
"You ain't got the sand!" said Holton, aggravatingly.
Frank turned from him angrily, and old Neb, who had listened, stepped
quickly up to him. "Marse Frank," he pleaded, "don' yo' let dat
white-trash bluff yo'!" The old darkey's voice was tremulous, his eyes
were moist with feeling for his humiliated master. A great resolve
thrilled through him. "See heah, honey, I's be'n sabin' all mah life.
I's got a pile o' money in de bank. Take it all, now, honey, an' bet it
on Queen Bess."
Frank shook his head, but smiled at the old darkey, touched alike by his
devotion to himself and confidence in the mare they both loved. "No, no,
Neb; not your money," he replied. He stood in deep thought, for a
moment, tapping the ground nervously with worried foot. "But I'll back
the mare for all _I'm_ worth!" he finally declared. "If she loses, I'm a
ruined man, anyway." He turned, now, to Holton. "Holton," he said,
"I've got just three thousand dollars in the bank. I'll put it all on
Queen Bess against your five-thousand."
It seemed, almost, as if Holton had been waiting for this offer, for his
smile broadened as he found that he had goaded Layson into making it.
"I'll take it," he said quickly, and then, turning to the crowd about
them, among which were some of the state's best citizens, he added:
"Gentlemen, you're witnesses. Three-thousand against five-thousand on
Queen Bess."
They nodded, and not one of them but looked at Layson with
commiseration, as at a man foredoomed to bitter disappointment.
Neb, however, grinned at Holton impishly. "Yes; you'll look mighty sick
when yo' hab to pay it, too."
From the judge's stand rang out the silvery notes of a quavering
bugle-call, and Holton smiled unpleasantly.
"The call to th' post," said he, "an' whar's your jockey?"
"He'll be here on time," said Frank, voicing a confidence which it was
hard for him to feel. He turned, then, to the darkey. "Neb, bring out
Queen Bess."
The excitement, all around them, was intensifying, every minute.
Jockeys, now, were mounting their horses, and riding off for the short
canter to the judges' stand. As each appeared in view of the great
crowd in and about the grand-stand a mighty shout arose.
Holton's smile was broadening. "If that jockey doesn't show up mighty
quick," he sneered, "you're out of the race."
Just as he spoke old Neb returned, with the superb mare behind him,
saddled, bridled, ready for the race, fretting at her bit, impatient of
the crowds and noise.
"Who knows whether he's coming, at all?" said Holton, a bit dashed at
sight of the fine mare's superb condition, but still sneering. "Nobody's
seen him."
Neb looked off toward the weighing-room. "Yo' 're wrong," he shouted,
capering with amazing spryness for one whose limbs were old and stiff,
"fo' heah he comes!"
Every member of the party turned, in haste, to look in the direction
whence Neb pointed.
They saw a slight, graceful figure, dressed in the brilliant colors of
the Layson stable, which, without so much as glancing at them, ran to
Queen Bess and took a place upon the far side of the mare, where,
stooping as if to look carefully to the saddle-girths, its face was
quickly hidden. But, even as the jockey stooped, one of his hands held
out to Frank, across the saddle, a little folded paper.
Without paying much attention to the jockey, Layson took this note and
hastily unfolded it. "It's from the Colonel," he announced. "I knew
he'd never fail me."
Then he read, aloud, so all might hear:
"This will be handed to you by a jockey I have just engaged. He comes
from the east and is highly recommended. I know his endorser. Regretting
that the promise of a Kentuckian prevents me from being with you, I am
yours regretfully, on the outside, SANDUSKY DOOLITTLE."
"It's all right!" Frank shouted, gleefully, and then, to the strange
jockey: "Quick, on the mare and off to the post!"
Without a word, without a second's pause, Madge, for the unknown jockey
was, of course, the little mountain girl, jumped upon Queen Bess and
hastily rode off, to be greeted, with a mighty outburst of cheering and
applause as the favorite appeared before the waiting crowds in
unmistakably fine condition and mounted by a rider whose every movement
showed a perfect knowledge of the work and complete sympathy with the
beautiful animal he rode.
* * * * *
Doomed by his promise on the honor of a gentleman to Miss Alathea, to
witnessing the race from the outside, if he witnessed it at all, Colonel
Sandusky Doolittle, fully aware of the unusual interest of the moments,
some account of which has just been made, was sunk in melancholy after
he had sent Madge through the magic portals, with explicit instructions
as to exactly what to do when once she was safe inside. He was breathing
hard from the mere exertion of preventing his unruly feet from running
to the gate, of keeping his unruly hand from diving deep into his pocket
for the entrance fee. These preventions he accomplished, though, without
once really weakening, and was safe at a good distance from the tempting
gate when the crowd within began to shout as the horses were brought
out.
"There, they're bringing out the horses!" he exclaimed, unhappily. He
set his jaws as might one who, with a great effort, abstains from food
when famishing. "I didn't go in!" he muttered. "I've kept my word,
though it has nearly finished me!"
Anxiously, if hurriedly, he searched along the fence for the knot-hole
Neb had told him of. Twice, in his great eagerness, he passed it by,
but, on the third inspection he discovered it, and placed his eye to it.
In a moment he backed away, dejectedly. "I can't see worth a cent!" he
bitterly complained. "It's not hole enough for me!" Lost, in his
disappointment, even to shame for the wretched pun, he straightened up,
surveying his immediate surroundings.
Close by was the tree which Neb had also spoken of. He examined it with
an appraising eye, then looked about to see what spectators were near.
No one was in sight save a pair of piccaninnies, down the fence a
hundred yards or so, with eyes glued to other knot-holes or to cracks.
"To the deuce with dignity!" he cried. "I'll just inspect that tree."
He was doing this with care, when, breathless and eager, a lady hurried
toward him. As the tree intervened between them he did not see her
coming, nor did she note his presence. It would have been quite plain to
anyone who had observed her that she was engaged upon a quest much like
that which he had pursued, for she carefully inspected each plank in the
high fence, as, slowly and cautiously lest she should pass unheeded that
which she was seeking eagerly, she made her way in his direction.
"Everybody's at the races," she thought, comforting herself. "I'm
perfectly safe. No one in the world will see me.... But where _is_ that
blessed knot-hole?"
Suddenly her eye chanced on it, and, an instant later, was applied to
it, the while the Colonel paused, with his back to her, still anxiously
inspecting the tree.
"Ah!" said Miss Alathea, aloud, as she caught a glimpse of something
interesting inside the fence.
Instantly the Colonel turned and looked down at her, startled. Then: "A
woman!" he exclaimed, beneath his breath. "A woman at my knot-hole!"
Firmly determined to maintain his right he sternly approached her.
"Madam!" he exclaimed, as incensed by her usurpation of the knot-hole
as he would have been, at ordinary times, by theft of watch or
pocket-book, and tapped her lightly on the shoulder.
She shrank back from the knot-hole, startled and indignant. "Sir!" she
cried, and then, as he recognized her, she turned and saw who had
addressed her.
"Colonel Sandusky Doolittle!" she exclaimed, amazed.
"Miss Alathea Layson!" cried the Colonel, equally amazed, at first, but
winding up his gesture of surprise with a low and courtly bow.
"Colonel, what are you doing here?"
"Madame," he countered, "what are _you_ doing here?"
Miss Alathea's dignity forsook her. "Colonel," she confessed, "I
couldn't wait to hear the result."
"No more could I," he somewhat sheepishly admitted.
"But I didn't enter the race-track," she explained in haste.
"I was equally firm."
"And Neb told me of this knot-hole."
"The rascal--he told me of it, too."
"Colonel," she said, smiling, "we must forgive each other. If you really
must look, there is the knot-hole."
"No, Miss 'Lethe," he said gallantly, "_I_ resign the knot-hole to you.
I shall climb the tree." Without delay (for sounds from the barrier's
far side hinted to his practiced ear that matters of much moment were
progressing, there) he scrambled with much more difficulty than dignity
into the spreading crotch.
"Oh, be careful Colonel!" Miss Alathea cried, alarmed. "Don't break your
neck!" But she added, as an afterthought: "But be sure to get where you
can see."
"Ah, what a gallant sight!" he cried as he found himself in a position
whence he could command a view of the exciting scene within the barrier.
"There's Catalpa ... and Evangeline ... and ... yes, there is Queen
Bess!"
A burst of cheering rose from the crowd within.
Miss Alathea was on tip-toe with excitement. "What's that?" she begged.
"A false start," he answered, scarcely even glancing down at her.
"They'll make it this time, though," he added, and she could see his
knuckles whiten with the strain as he gripped a rough limb of the tree
with vise-like fingers.
A moment later and the shouting became a very tempest of sound.
"They're off!" he cried, staring through his field glasses in an
excitement which promised, if he did not curb it, to send him tumbling
from his shaky foothold. "Oh, what a splendid start!"
"Who's ahead?" inquired Miss Alathea, very much excited. "Colonel, who's
ahead?"
"Catalpa sets the pace, the others lying well back."
"Why doesn't Queen Bess come to the front?" Miss Alathea cried, as if he
were to blame for the disquieting news he had reported to her. "Oh," she
exclaimed, to the Colonel's great astonishment, "if I were only on that
mare!"
"At the half," the Colonel shouted, beside himself with worry,
"Evangeline takes the lead ... Catalpa next ... the rest are bunched."
Miss Alathea, at the moment, was trying to see satisfactorily, through
the very knot-hole which the Colonel had abandoned. She sprang from it
hastily, however, and to the foot of the tree which acted as his
pedestal, when he exclaimed:
"Oh, great heavens! There's a fall ... a jam ... and Queen Bess is left
behind three lengths!" He leaned so far out that he heard the limb
beneath him crack, and, in hastening to a firmer footing, almost lost
his balance. This startled him, and, for an instant, took his eager gaze
away from the struggling horses on the track within, but he quickly
regained poise. "She hasn't the ghost of a show!" he cried,
disheartened. "Look! Look!"
Miss Alathea hugged the tree and looked, not at the horses, for that was
quite impossible, but up at him with wide, imploring eyes.
"She's at it again, though, now!" he cried. "It's beyond anything
mortal, but she's gaining ... gaining!"
Miss Alathea's excitement now was every bit as great as his. She had
never seen a race in all her life, yet, now, she performed there at the
foot of the great tree, a series of evolution not unlike those of many a
"rooter" at the track within. She jumped up and down upon her toe's,
clenched her hands and cried: "Oh, keep it up! Keep it up!"
"At the three-quarters she's only five lengths behind the leader and
still gaming!" cried the Colonel, in excited optimism.
Miss Alathea could no longer endure the agony of waiting on the ground
for his reports. Instead she tried to scramble to his side, but,
failing, utterly, to accomplish this unaided, held her hands up to him,
crying: "Oh, pull, pull! I can't stand it! I've just got to see!"
The Colonel turned upon his perch and looked down at her, smiling.
"Coming up, Miss 'Lethe?" he inquired. "All right, don't break your
neck, but get where you can see." Hastily he gave her such assistance as
his absorbed attention to the events within the fence permitted, and,
with a wild scramble, she found herself close by his side, holding half
to him, half to a curving branch.
"Look! Look!" he cried, again. "In the stretch! Her head is at Catalpa's
crupper ... now at her saddle-bow ... but she can't gain another inch.
Still ... yes ... yes ... she lifts her! See!... See!... Great God! She
wins!"
Within the fence wild pandemonium broke loose. The crowd went mad with
shouting. Hats, handkerchiefs, canes, umbrellas, flew into the air as if
blown upward by the mad explosion of the crowd's enthusiasm. The band
was playing "Dixie."
Frank and Neb rushed forward to lift from the winner the victorious
jockey, who by such superb riding as that track had never seen before,
had snatched victory from defeat after the mare had been delayed in the
bad pocket which, from his distant point of survey, had alarmed the
Colonel. The jockey eluded them, however and, with face averted, hurried
with the splendid mare back to the paddock, and there disappeared,
disregarding the crowd's wild shouts of acclamation.
Holton stood near Frank, white-faced and angry. Old Neb, as he ran
beside Queen Bess, looked back at him and grinned.