The Horse Race.
We left Sam Wiles, Zibe Turner and other disturbers of the peace in the
county jail. In due time they were brought before Judge LeMonde for
trial. They were found guilty and sentenced to prison for one month.
A few days after their liberation the following conversation took place:
_Turner_: "Most all de folks on de hills and in de valleys air
goin' to de races tomorrer, and I look for a gay o' time."
_Wiles_: "Yes, and all de niggers that can get off'n work will be
there too."
_Turner_: "Dat feller from Lexington has a right smart of a hoss.
You know he wants me to ride him in de last race, and I'm bound to
beat George LeMonde, if beat is in de critter. His hoss stands
seventeen hands high, is rangy in de legs, has a deep chest, and
has a will to go. He can easily bear my weight, and you know dat
dey count me de best jockey in de whul county. If I can't win by
far (fair) means, I will by foul."
_Wiles_: "I hearn dat Jack Ketcham's sorrel goes like de wind, and
Jack's hoss is goin' to be in de big race."
_Turner_: "George LeMonde has been speeding his bay over de track
for days, and he will get every bit of go out of him. His mother
and sister are dead set agin hoss-racin' and dey are begging him
not to ride; but George likes de sport too well to please dem."
_Wiles_: "Mr. Rawlins, of Lexington, swears by his black, and will
put up a great deal of money. George will try to match it, and ol'
farmer Ketcham won't be slow with his cash."
_Turner_: "It will be an excitin' time, and I low, as many will see
de races as went to de big camp meetin'."
_Wiles_: "Well, Zibe, you must stick to your hoss like a monkey,
and do your best to win de money and down that upstart, George
LeMonde."
With this remark the two men separated.
George LeMonde was a youth about seventeen years of age, well-built,
good-looking, full of life and vigor, and at this time engaged in that
serious occupation, common to many young men, sowing his wild oats. He
was boisterous and rather reckless, but not vicious. His moral nature
was touched by evil, but not yet corrupted. However, he had begun to
walk in the broad way of youthful folly, and was in great danger of
going its full length. He was restrained from drinking the full cup of
unlawful indulgence more by the prayers, example, and love of his
mother and sister than by the correct moral life of his father.
The greatest danger to that priceless thing, character, which
confronted him was his association with the hillside young men. They
never felt that he was one in desire and purpose with them; but
sometimes he would meet them on the big road by Franklin Schoolhouse or
occasionally go to their cabins on the hills. Then he would sip lightly
their moonshine whiskey, join in their coarse talk, and share in their
few pastimes.
George LeMonde probably inherited his love for horses. His father,
Judge LeMonde, for many years had raised his own colts from the best
stock he could procure. On his broad acres they had every chance to
develop their physical powers. His fields produced an abundance of the
best corn and hay. Skirting the hill which bounded his farm on the
north were extensive meadows rich with grass. Here his blooded stock
browsed, ran and grew. It was under similar conditions that many
Kentucky horses were raised early in the nineteenth century, becoming
sires of the greatest racing stock in the world.
At the time of which we write Judge LeMonde owned a bay, of his own
raising, which was his pride and joy. The horse, Velox by name, was far
and away better than any other he had ever possessed. He was known
throughout the entire county as a splendid specimen of horseflesh, and
for beauty and utility had won the blue ribbon at a number of
surrounding fairs.
When George LeMonde reached his sixteenth birthday his father gave him
this fine animal. The son was delighted with the gift, and took the
best care of Velox, often feeding him with his own hand. George rode
his horse so much that he learned all the traits and peculiarities of
his steed; for horses, like men, have their own individual make-up and
notions. On the other hand, Velox got to know, trust, love and obey his
master. He would come at his call, and could be guided when on a
journey nearly as well by the motions of his owner's body as by the
rein.
George LeMonde decided to enter Velox for the race which was soon to
take place, and many times did he ride his willing steed over the race
course to prepare for the great event.
Horse racing then, as now, was one of the most popular diversions of
multitudes in Kentucky, but the preparations then were quite primitive.
The track was laid in a level piece of ground some miles from Judge
LeMonde's farm. It was in the form of a circle, and was one mile in
circumference. The inclosure was protected by a rough fence, hewn out
of logs. Within the course, near the starting place, and on the inside
of the track, was a stand upon which the judges of the races sat. Some
rough seats were provided for a part of the spectators, but most of the
people stood during the races.
Saturday dawned clear and beautiful. It was a perfect day to bring out
the speed of the racers. The time selected was near the last of August,
and a crispness in the air gave a faint indication of coming autumn.
People from far and wide had come to enjoy the sport. They made the
occasion a holiday. Many came on horseback and by team, and families
brought well-filled baskets of fried chicken, corn pone, blackberry
pie, and other good things to refresh the inner man.
A number of minor races were run by horses in harness and under the
saddle, which only increased the people's appetite for the grand event
of the day. At four in the afternoon the three horses were called for
the two-mile race. Their riders soon brought them from their stalls to
a position in front of the grand stand and judges. The steeds were all
in perfect condition, their glossy coats shining with bright luster in
the afternoon sun. The horses seemed to feel the meaning of the
occasion. They champed their bits and moved about restlessly as though
impatient to be off. Their riders, however, had them under good
control, and now the judges tossed the coin for choice of position on
the track. Zibe Turner secured the inside place, George LeMonde came
next, and Hiram Ketcham, Farmer Ketcham's son of eighteen, was on the
outer rim of the circle, next to the fence.
The grand stand, composed of rough boards, was filled with the best
dressed citizens of the county: while far down the track, and separated
from it by a frail line of fence, stood a great company of tall
Kentucky pioneers with their wives and children. Many negroes were also
in the crowd, interested spectators, and the small boy was much in
evidence.
A silence fell upon the waiting throng as the three horses, bearing
their riders, proceeded up the track a few rods to make a dash for the
line. The signal was given, and they came like three thunderbolts to
the starting place; but reaching this they were not abreast, and
another start must be made. They tried four times before they got away
in line, when some one shouted: "Now they are off!" For a few paces
they were neck and neck; but then Hiram Ketcham's sorrel, though on the
outer circle forged ahead. When the half-mile point was reached, the
sorrel was several lengths in the lead, and Zibe Turner's black was
leading George LeMonde's bay by a dozen feet. They came in this
position down the home stretch, and as they crossed the line a great
cheering rose from the crowd. Turner's friends from the hills were
there in large numbers, and were the loudest in their shouts. "Go it,
Zibe; you'll beat, old boy!" "Hurrah for de black! push him along!"
"I'll bet my money on de Lexington hoss!" were some of the words that
were shouted at Turner as he dashed past the starting point for the
second mile. Hiram Ketcham did not lack for admirers, who encouraged
him with cheers and waving of hats and handkerchiefs. Many of the
farmers living in the rich river bottom seemed to be partial to the
sorrel horse. George LeMonde's friends were plentiful in the grand
stand and, in fact, throughout the crowd. They were somewhat
disappointed to behold him the last in the race; but they saw that
Velox was going well, and they had hopes for his winning during the
next mile.
As for young LeMonde, he saw nothing and gave heed to nothing except
the business in hand. Only once did he raise his eyes from looking
straight ahead between the ears of his noble horse, and that was when
he was passing the grandstand. Then he gave a swift look in that
direction, and was repaid by seeing a young girl of some sixteen years
of age, Stella Nebeker by name, dressed in a pure white muslin gown
with short sleeves, waving a delicate handkerchief toward him. For an
instant their eyes met, then he looked along the race course as before.
LeMonde had a method in his racing which he was now working. He knew
the reserved powers which were in his horse, and he purposely held him
back from putting forth his greatest speed at the beginning. Turner,
the monster dwarf, was also using all his skill in horse racing. His
monkeyish face was lighted up with a look of more intelligence than
usual, which made his ugly features more forbidding and repulsive. His
eyes shone with excitement, determination, and reckless courage. His
teeth were clenched, and the muscles of his lips drawn over them gave
him an expression half laughing, half demoniac. On the first round his
cap had fallen off, and the shaggy hair of his head and face streamed
in the wind, adding greatly to the fierceness of his looks. He had
perfect control of himself and horse, and rode like a centaur, ready to
take any advantage which circumstances or guile threw in his way. He
also had held in his horse with bit and bridle, reserving his best
efforts for the closing part of the race.
During the first half of the second mile Turner knew that it was
necessary for him to lessen the distance between himself and Hiram
Ketcham, and LeMonde realized that he must soon close the gap
separating Turner and himself. Almost at the same time they gave their
horses more rein, and they sprang to their work with increased speed.
Ketcham had taken advantage of his lead by crossing the track and
taking the narrow arc of the circle. The three horses were trotting in
a line, all hugging the inside track. Very soon the distance between
the sorrel and the black was diminished, and before the half mile point
was reached the monster dwarf turned his horse toward the center of the
track to pass Ketcham. Just beyond the half-mile point Turner's black
passed Ketcham's sorrel, and LeMonde's bay was neck and neck with the
black. A few rods more, and it was plain to be seen that the bay was
forging ahead of the black.
The monster dwarf saw at once the advantage of his rival, and hissing
through his teeth in a low voice the words: "Dat's my holt," brought
his short cowhide whip down with force upon the withers of Velox. It
was the act of a jockey utterly without principle, an act execrated by
every true Kentucky sportsman.
The splendid animal never before had felt the lash of a whip. The blow
had the effect desired by the dwarf. It broke the gait of the bay
horse. The stroke was so unexpected and painful that the horse gave a
bound forward and upward that almost unseated the rider. Then he
plunged along the track with irregular strides, sometimes rushing to
the sides and then to the center.
Though taken by surprise George LeMonde acted with decision and
judgment. He held his mount with a firm hand, and added to the strength
of his arm the soothing effect of his voice: "Steady, steady, Velox!
Your master did not strike you. He loves you. Steady, steady, good
horse! Velox! Velox! Velox!" By these means young LeMonde renewed the
race, though the other horses were a considerable distance in advance.
In the meantime a large number of the spectators had seen the
despicable act and roared their disapproval. Some shook their fists at
the monster dwarf, and cried for speedy punishment for his vile trick.
This outburst of indignation made him fear again to molest the bay
horse.
Now George knew that the time had come for Velox to use his utmost
powers. He knew that the horse had great reserved fountains of strength
in him, and believed he could still win the race. As for the horse, he
seemed alive to the situation. Perhaps he felt a proud resentment at
the insult and injury put upon him. His eyes flashed fire. His nostrils
were dilated until the red blood showed through his veins. Man and
horse gave to each other courage and confidence; they appeared no
longer to be two creatures, but had been merged into a single unit of
astonishing force and capacity. LeMonde's whole soul was absorbed with
one thought--to pass the other horses and to cross the line first. He
leaned farther front in the saddle, lowering his head to reduce the
resistance of the air. His face almost touched the flying mane of his
horse.
Again he spoke to his mount: "Steady, my Velox boy; we are nearing the
end. It will soon be over; but you must pass these horses, and win the
race." With this remark LeMonde gave free rein to his horse, pressed
his knees a little tighter against the animal's sides, and gave him a
light touch with the whip. The noble horse instantly responded to his
master's urge. He released fold after fold of knotted muscle, his
stride increased, and when his hoofs descended, they seemed to spurn
the ground. Now as steady as a Corliss engine this ultimate unit of the
animal and mechanical world rushed on, and was seen to be gaining on
the other horses.
At a quarter of a mile from the home stake the sorrel horse was passed,
but still the result seemed uncertain. Then young LeMonde appeared as a
Jehu incarnate. He pressed the horse's flanks with his heels and
shouted into the very ears of his mount: "Velox, we must win, we will
win, we are going to win." With this remark, for the first time in his
life he brought the whip down hard upon the glossy hide of his steed.
The animal increased his speed, and went thundering down the home
stretch after the black. It is a case of blood against time and space.
The bay gains! He has closed the distance between them! His head is on
a line with the other's shoulder! They are only one hundred yards from
the goal! The grand stand is wild with shouting! Those standing near
the track, unconscious of what they do, are throwing hats,
handkerchiefs and umbrellas into the air, and yelling like mad men! The
judges are sighting the line! They see a horse's brown head and
shoulders pass the line, then a black head appears, and Velox has won
by a neck's length.