[Illustration: STEENIE AND LADY TRIX.]
“What? What is this?” Judge Courtenay looked incredulously around; and
there was Steenie clasping her arms about the neck of a tall stranger
who had knelt upon the stable floor, the better to receive her caress,
and whose brown, honest face shone with a delight which matched her
own. “Bob, is it? Why, sir, I know all about you! And right glad I am
to see you.”
“The same, sir. Judge Courtenay, I presume. Just got in from the West.
Hunted up the ‘boss’ first, and he shipped me on here. Knew it wouldn’t
do to keep my eyes from the sight of this here young lady, not no
longer ’n necessary, no.”
“Oh, Bob, why didn’t you send me word so that I could have been
’xpecting you? I’m so glad--glad--glad!”
“Glad I didn’t, hey? But you’ve growed! You’ve growed a power sence I
lifted you aboard cars at San’ Felis’ station. How’s ever’thing?”
“Everything? Well. No--I don’t know. Did Sutro Vives get safely back
home?”
“Yes; Sutry’s all right,” answered the Kentuckian, quietly, and fixing
a significant glance upon Judge Courtenay’s face. “But let me in on
this racket. What is it? A horse-race, eh?”
“Yes; and I’m to drive and ride this beauty. I must win, Bob! I must.
But now I know I shall--with you on hand to ’courage me. Oh, I’m so
glad, so glad!”
“Give me the hull business. What’s about this thousand dollars?”
“Down here,--sit right down here, an’ wait till I tell you.” Down sat
the ranchman, obediently, and Steenie close beside him, while she
poured into his ears a rapid history of what had befallen her since her
departure from her childhood’s home.
Much of this he had already learned from her letters; much more Sutro
had told him; but this last threatened calamity--the family moving on
the morrow from the old house in High Street to the tiny cottage in the
suburbs--and the privations which menaced this child so dear to him,
was news and sad news. Still, he had come East to put his own powerful
shoulder to the burden his beloved Little Un was so bravely trying to
lift with her own childish strength, and there “was no such word as
fail” in Kentucky Bob’s vocabulary.
“Well! Where’s yer rig-out? Ain’t a goin’ to ’pear afore the assembled
multitudes in just that flimsy frock, are you,--or is it a new style?”
“No! Course not. Did I ever? But I’ve the cutest little habit ’at ever
was! Grandmother had it made for me; ’cause Mary Jane said, ‘If I was
bound ter break my neck, I’d better break it lookin’ ’spectable.’ Oh,
that Mary Jane! She’s the dearest, best, funniest little old body;
moves all of a jerk, an’ so quick she makes Mr. Resolved dizzy to watch
her,--so he says. He’s way down, down at the bottom of everything, all
the whole time; but he has the lumbago, an’ it’s that I s’pose. Though
she’s his sister an’ she doesn’t get hypoey, never. An’--oh, my habit?
Why, you see, dear Bob, when we had to sell Tito--”
“Wh-at? Say that again. ’Pears like I don’t understand very sharp.”
“Didn’t I tell you ’bout that? But it was so. We couldn’t ’ford to keep
him, my grandmother says; an’ Judge Courtenay bought him; an’ Papa put
the money in the savings bank toward my education, ’cause he said it
was a’most like takin’ money for folks, an’ it shouldn’t be used ’cept
for the best purpose. And dear Mrs. Courtenay made me bring my habit
an’ keep it here; so’s when I’ve done my lessons extra well I can have
a ride on Tito for a ‘reward.’ Anyhow, I see him every day; an’ I’ve
’xplained it to him best I could; but he doesn’t understand it very
well, I think. Any way he doesn’t behave real nice. When I go away he
whinnies an’ cries an’ acts--he acts quite naughty, sometimes. But he
oughtn’t; for everybody is as good as good to him. Come and see him
this minute.”
Away went the reunited friends, and Tito’s intelligent eyes lighted
with almost human joy when his kind old instructor laid a caressing
hand upon his head, and cried out gayly: “Howdy, old boy! Shake, my
hearty, shake!”
Up went Tito’s graceful fore-leg, and “shake” it was, literally
and emphatically. When this ceremony was over and the magnificent
stables of Rookwood had been duly examined and admired, Steenie was
commissioned to bring her friend into dinner, which was early that
day on account of the afternoon’s arrangements. During its progress,
Bob managed to give considerable information concerning Santa Felisa
happenings, as well as dispose of a hearty meal. He had “begged off”
from going to table with “these high-toned Easteners; ’cause you
know, Little Un, ’t I never et to no comp’ny table nowheres,--not
even to your’n an’ your pa’s. I’m a free-born American, an’ all that
rubbish--but I know what’s what: the more for that reason. In--my place
I’m as good as the next feller an’-a-little-better-too-sir; but outen
it--I’m outen it. Them ’at rides the plains an’ looks arter stawk, as
I’ve done the last hunderd years, more or less, hain’t learned to dip
their fingers into no fingerbowls nor wipe their mustache on no fringed
napkins.”
But Judge Courtenay overruled the stranger’s objections, and once
having accepted the situation, Bob made the best of it. He was
awkward, of course, and ignorant concerning table etiquette; but he
let his awkwardness apologize for itself by his simple good nature
in the matter; and if his talk was not polished, it was full of wit,
originality, and a verve that carried his listeners captive.
“Well!” said Mrs. Courtenay, when at last they could no longer delay
their rising from the board, “I do not know when I have enjoyed
anything so much as your descriptions of ranch-life. It is almost as
good as seeing it for myself; and it gives me a real longing for its
breeziness and freedom from social cares and restrictions.”
“It’s the only life worth livin’, ma’am, in my opinion. Which same I
don’t go for to set up ag’in that of any other man or woman, only for
myself. I--I couldn’t exist anywheres elst, for any great length o’
time. I don’t want nothin’ less ’an a ten-mile field to swing my long
arms round in. There ain’t--But, what’s the use? If I talked all day I
couldn’t tell nobody what them big open spaces o’ airth an’ sky is to
me; an’ if they’s a good Lord anywheres about, He’s out there in them
blossomin’ plains an’ snow-capped mountains an’ etarnal sunshine.”
“My old Marm uset ter sing ’bout the ‘Beautiful Heaven above,’
an’ ’pear to enjoy thinkin’ on ’t; an’ once I ast her what she
’lowed it was like. She said if ’t was like anything she knowed,
she’d ruther it’d be like Salem village,--out hum in the State o’
Massachusetts,--an’ ary other place she’d ever seen. But I don’t want
no villages in mine; an’ if ever I git thar I don’t ask no purtier
place ’an Californy to go ridin’ round in, forever an’ ever. Amen.”
“Ah! Well, to most of us, probably, Heaven is typical of what we like
best,” said the Judge, gravely, and led the way library-ward. Where,
for a while, he held a most absorbing conversation with this stranger
from the West; and when it was ended his genial countenance was even
more serious than before.
Then came the shouts of the children, eager to be off to the “course;”
and thither, presently, everybody repaired.
“Well, Little Un, you look prime! Bless my eyes! ’Pears ye’ve growed
more ’n five months’ wuth, in these five months o’ time, long as they
has be’n to old Bob, without ye. An’, huckleberries! They is quite a
crowd around, ain’t they! Well, you don’t mind that none, do ye?”
“Why, of course not; an’, Bob, let me tell you, you stand in some
certain place,--you pick out where,--an’ every time I go round I’ll
look at you, see? Then you can make all the old signs you used to
make, an’ it’ll be a’most as good as Santa Felisa. But, think of it!
A thousand dollars! I want to win just as much. I truly do. Don’t I?
If only for Judge Courtenay’s sake, ’cause he’s so dear an’ kind, an’
he’s Beatrice’s papa,--an’ I love her so very, very much. But most of
all, now--an’ it grows more an’ more so--I wish to get that money so my
darling old grandmother won’t have to leave her own home an’ her pretty
library, nor anything. Oh, do you think I’ll do it?”
“Sartain. Sartain as I live. But you an’ I’ve got a job to tackle
arterwards. Look at these horses round here! Did ye ever see sech a lot
o’ poor, tortured, mis’able critters? Look at that check-strap yonder!
The man ’at owns the poor thing ’pears quite peart an’ quality-like,
but he’s a fool all the same. Wish I could hitch a string to his front
lock o’ hair an’ yank his idiotic old head over back’ards, same way!
Bet he wouldn’t go trot, trot, round that peaceable. No, siree, he’d
yell like a painter, an’ smash things if he couldn’t get loose. An’
that other nincompoop further down that way, see that breechin’ he’s
put on his horse? He’d oughter be shot, ’cause big’s the world is thar
ain’t room enough in it for sech idiots as him! If I was that horse I’d
set right down on that strap an’ go to sleep, I would.”
“Oh, you dear old scolder! You’ll see lots o’ cruelty to horses here in
Old Knollsboro; but the folks don’t understand ’em as well as you an’ I
do. That’s the reason. My father says it isn’t ’tentional unkindness,
it’s only ignorance. Ah! There they are calling me. Come!”
The news had spread that Judge Courtenay had found a jockey to ride
his Trix, and one who was to drive her in the trainer’s place; so the
spirit of his wealthy opponent sank a little. However, an untried,
unpractised assistant, as this new hand must be, was quite as liable
to lose as win the contest for his employer, even though the animal he
rode was unequalled for speed. This second thought sent a thrill of
satisfaction to the heart of Doctor Gerould, the master of Rookwood’s
rival, and he now felt confident of his own success. Like his friend,
the Judge, he was warmly enthusiastic over his “hobby,” and would, in
the height of his excitement, have gone to any honest length to carry
off that day’s laurels.
But when, after some preliminary contests between inferior beasts, the
real one began, and the four thoroughbreds who were to compete for the
famous “Rookwood cup” were drawn into line at the starting place, he
saw the girlish little figure which was lifted into the sulky behind
Trixie, his courage ebbed again.
“That child! Why how in the world did he obtain her family’s consent!”
exclaimed a neighbor.
“No matter how; there she is.”
“But, have confidence, sir. She’s only a girl. She cannot have the
wisdom and skill--”
“Cannot she? Maybe you haven’t heard about her; though, wasn’t it
yourself expatiating upon her wonderful riding over our country-roads
on her piebald mount? Why, man alive, the child’s a witch! So they
claim; and--Jupiter! If they haven’t imported a regular ‘Wild
Westerner’ besides! Well, I might as well give it up. Mordaunt’s
beaten.”
Kentucky Bob was moving about Trixie as she stood waiting, examining
every strap and buckle of the light harness she wore, testing its
strength and that of the skeleton-like vehicle in which he had placed
his beloved “Little Lady of the Horse.” His gaunt face was grave and
anxious. He did not like this experimenting with untried animals, and
at such a stake. Still, he knew the mettle of the driver if not the
steed, and his superstitious faith in Steenie’s ability to succeed
everywhere and in everything made his words cheerful, if not his heart
wholly so.
“I come jest in time, didn’t I, Little Un? An’ don’t you get excited
an’ ferget. You take the outside. Thar ain’t no legs in this show
’cept Trixie’s an’ that Mordaunt’s thar. Them two other critters’ll
drop out in no time; then you jest keep a steady head--an’ hand--_an’
the outside_! Don’t you ferget it. I ain’t a goin’ to have ye crowded
up ag’in no railin’ an’ so caught an’ beat--mebbe hurt. Keep to the
outside, though they be so p’lite as ter offer ye the inside show.
Steady, is the word. Go it slow--warm her up--put on steam--get in
ahead. Thar ye go! Californy to win!”
But not so easily. It was a contest hardly, barely won. Yet it was
won--and honestly; and, the driving over, Steenie was swung to the
ground once more by her attentive Bob, who was far more pleased and
proud than she.
“Ye did it, Little Un! Ye did it! Though, o’ course, I didn’t expect
nothin’ else o’ my ‘Mascot’!”
But the child’s face was downcast. The cheers and plaudits which
followed her as she went into the waiting-room were almost unheard and
quite unnoticed, and she bounded toward Judge Courtenay with actual
tears of vexation in her blue eyes. “Oh, I’m so sorry! You’ll never
have any faith in me again, will you?”
“Why, my dear little girl! You’ve won! Didn’t you know that you had
won?” cried the master of Rookwood, in high delight.
“Call it ‘won,’ sir? That little bit o’ ways? Trixie should have been
in a dozen lengths ahead, ’stead of just a teeny, tiny bit! I’m so
sorry, so sorry!”
That was the only way in which she could be induced to regard her
victory; but when, later on, the riding was announced, her vivacity and
hopefulness returned. “Now--I’m all right! I can ride--anything! Same’s
I can breathe, just as easy. An’ see here, my Lady Trix, you have got
to ’xert yourself this time, you dear, beautiful, lazy thing! You hear?
If you don’t, I’ll never speak to you again as long as I live! So
there, my dainty one!”
Whether Trixie understood, who can tell? Certainly the dire calamity
her small friend threatened was not destined to befall the proud queen
of Judge Courtenay’s stables. Maybe because riding was, as Steenie
said, more natural to her than driving, it was evident from the word
“Go!” that she was the winner by long odds.
Almost it seemed, toward the last, that there was practically no
contest at all; but the truth was that such wonderful equestrianship as
Steenie Calthorp accomplished that day had never been seen on that or
any other course thereabouts.
“I’m bound to beat!--and beat so far that I’ll feel all nice and clean
about it in my heart, too!” she declared at starting; then she kissed
her hand to Beatrice, watching wide-eyed from a seat of honor, and
rode gayly away to victory. With her little face smiling and rosy,
yet tremendously in earnest, the far-away look in the bonny eyes,
the aureole of sun-kissed ringlets streaming on the air, she seemed
to communicate to her mount her very thoughts and feelings,--“For
Grandmother and Home!”
[Illustration: She kissed her hand to Beatrice--Page 261.]
It was love, then, that won!--love and unselfishness, which even in
the person of a little child were irresistible, as they are always
irresistible. And so well she did her part, so noble was her aim, that,
now he had learned it, even Doctor Gerould lost every opposing wish.
“Well! well! If that’s the case, I’d rather she’d beat than not--of
course!--even if it damages Mordaunt’s record. And I’ll double the
price if they’ll let me.”
“But, of course, also, that can’t be, my friend,” explained the Judge.
“It’s just as probable as not that the Calthorp pride will up and
make a rumpus about the whole matter, even now. I shall feel more
comfortable after I know how the check is received. But if anything was
ever honestly earned that was!--and never did I draw one so willingly.
There they go! Good luck go with them!”
There they went, indeed! Riding in state through the streets of Old
Knollsboro, in the Courtenay carriage, with the Courtenay livery on the
box, and crowds of admiring people, returning village-ward, watching
their progress. Straight from love’s triumph to the square white house
in High Street, and to the brilliant smile of the polished old “lion”
on its door, a smile of welcome Steenie had long since learned to
regard it.
Grandmother Calthorp, sitting sadly at the window of her beloved and
now denuded library, saw this royal approach, and wondered. Then her
heart chilled with fear lest harm had befallen the child who had grown
into its very depths, and had now become the centre of life to it,
dearer than any other living creature, dearer even than the precious
packed-away books which had for so long outranked humanity in the
Madam’s estimation.
But Steenie was not hurt! A second glance showed that; for through the
hastily-donned eye-glasses the waiting woman saw that the child had
risen in her place, and stood waving joyously above her head a tiny
strip of paper, while the sparkling little face proclaimed in advance:
“Good news!”
Then the carriage stopped; and, although the bearer of the paper longed
to jump out, she restrained herself till the footman had opened the
cumbrous door which stayed her impatient feet. Then, out upon the
ground and up the path she sped, scarcely touching the ground in her
eagerness.
A noisy entrance, truly, but who could help that, or who reprove?
“Grandmother! See here! See here! You needn’t move!
Never--never--never! A thousand dollars! A whole one thousand splendid
dollars! I earned it! I won the race! For you--for you!”
Then the white paper fluttered into the trembling old hands; and
Steenie’s dancing feet bore her swiftly from the room to find and share
with the proud father her happy news.