Into the midst of Eleanor's troubled thoughts came the herald, a boy
from a neighboring ranch, fantastically attired, who rode on a white
pony with fluttering blue ribbons for reins, and blew three sharp
blasts on a silver bugle, the signal for the opening of the sports.
Eleanor Harrington whispered a few words to Betty, and helped her to
slip quietly out of the seat into the aisle, then settled back
relieved. She had sent a message to Jean not for anything in the
world to tell any one whose flowers she wore, and Jean looked up and
smiled brightly across the heads of the people between them, nodding
her consent. Betty came back to her seat, pleased to have been the
centre of all eyes for a moment, and her mother patted her hand and
reflected that, after all, it was wise in Jean not to wear any of her
special admirers' flowers, for then they could none of them be angry
with her; and if it should come out that she wore Holt's roses a
little judicious hint of "gratitude" and "a sense of duty toward one
who had saved her life" would only add charm to the lovely character
of the girl. As Holt was not present what harm could come of it?
The day's sports went forward briskly. Each feature of the program
had been put into separate and capable hands, and each vied with the
other to make his or her stunt the best of all. There were
children's games, marches and dances. There were folk dances,
speeches, contests, and races of all sorts, each highly entertaining
in its way; and there was the great picnic dinner when the entire
company adjourned to the edge of the woods where tables had been
prepared and where the good things of the town had been set forth to
tempt the appetite. Everybody was hungry and everybody laughed and
talked gaily.
Eleanor had had a vague hope that she might induce Jean to send home
at noon for some other flowers on the plea that the ones she wore
were faded, but Jean was surrounded by a company of gay young people
and there really was no opportunity to speak to her. Harrington,
too, who might have taken the matter in hand and convinced Jean of
the error of her ways, had been summoned to the grounds to perfect
some arrangement for the afternoon, so there was nothing to be done.
When the bugle blew for the afternoon program to begin Harrington was
beside his wife, his work done, ready to enjoy the best part of
things without any more responsibility. But Eleanor, knowing well
his moods, thought it unwise to tell him about the flowers for the
present. It was too late now to change, and James would simply be
furious; it was best to save that stroke about its being his fault
until another time when she needed to convince him of something else.
The children had finished their entertainment in the morning, and the
remainder of the program was to be by the men.
When the first set of riders came out in line there was one among
their number whom the crowd did not at first recognize; a man with
bright, curly hair and fine bearing, dressed in white flannels and
riding a jet black, long-limbed horse. Everywhere among the seats
could be heard the murmur: "Who is he?" but no one answered.
Harrington raised his field glass and looked; then dropped his hand
with an exclamation of dismay. Eleanor, watching her husband's face,
reached for the glass, looked a moment, then she too dropped the
glass in her lap and gave her attention to controlling her
countenance. No one must suspect what a bitter drop in the day's cup
of pleasure this was to them.
Harrington sat, grimly reflecting that he might have prevented this
possibility if he had framed the entrance qualifications aright; but
Holt had been away indefinitely when the tournament was planned and
he had not thought of him. Now it was too late to do a thing; and
there were reasons that made it unwise for him to show displeasure or
unfriendliness to Holt, lest suspicion of a worse character fall upon
himself.
For the remainder of the afternoon life to Eleanor Harrington became
a matter of self-control. Now and then she managed to glance
furtively at her husband and wonder why he hadn't flown into a rage;
but she was wise enough to say nothing, knowing that as he did not
there must be a reason. Nevertheless she mentally resolved to give
her young sister such a piece of her mind on their return home as
would not easily be forgotten; and for the first time since the date
of Jean's early departure had been set, she was reconciled to it.
What made matters so very much worse was that Jasper Holt looked
distractingly handsome in those unaccustomed white flannels, wearing
them as though he had grown up in them, and sitting his mount like a
young god. There wasn't a man of the whole line who seemed so
thoroughly a part of his horse as Holt, and every line of his head
and body, every controlled, easy movement that he made was beautiful.
Of course Jean was taken with his looks. Girls were such fools; that
is, girls who had no worldly wisdom.
Up on the grandstand a group of girls looked and exclaimed and
whispered eagerly together: "Do you suppose Jean knew all the time he
was going to enter? Do you suppose maybe she's in love with him?
_Really?_ Wouldn't that be exciting? But of course it couldn't ever
amount to anything but a little romance! And she looks so innocent!
I don't believe she knew, after all." And so they speculated.
Jean had known him the first moment he appeared upon the scene and
her heart stood still, as if this were the moment for which she had
waited all her life. He was here, and how splendid he looked! The
rough flannel shirt and corduroys in which she was accustomed to see
him were becoming, but he fairly took her breath away in his new
costume. There wasn't a man among them, no matter what he wore, who
could match him for looks. Her heart swelled with joy beneath his
roses. This was her little moment to rejoice. To-morrow she was
going away, and she might not see him any more, but to-day it was
right that she should have this beautiful sight of him to carry away
with her. So she watched, her eyes shining and her cheeks glowing
warmly.
There was no question at any time but that he was the rider of them
all. His horse skimmed the hurdles as though they had been mere
imaginary lines, and flew over the highest bar like a swallow in the
air. He sat the black creature with ease and grace, and from the
start all eyes were following his every move. The crowd forgot for
the time its prejudice and animosity, and sat in absorbed admiration
of his skill and courage.
They all knew him as a daring rider, for often women held their
breath to see him go tearing through the street on some wild beast of
a horse whose mad flight seemed uncanny; but the incomparable riding
he did now was beyond all he had ever done for them before. They
watched and glowed and applauded, and the heart of the girl he loved
swelled with pride so that the tears of joy came into her eyes and
blinded her from seeing him. She was glad that everyone was watching
him, and no one would be looking at her. She did not know that her
sister had the field glass focussed straight upon her, and was
studying her closely. Alas, for the tears that were so hastily
brushed away. Eleanor looked and her heart sank in dismay, poor,
troubled lady. She began to rejoice that Jean was going on the
morrow; in fact, the afternoon could not come too soon to a close for
her now.
The final race, the hardest of them all, intricate and amazing in its
plan and wonderful in its working out, in which the obstacles were
many and the skill required was great, was at its climax. Holt had
kept easily abreast, often ahead of all the others, and the next to
the last round was almost finished. People leaned forward in their
seats, then rose upon their feet, shouting and cheering and waving
their hands. Jean, with the others, leaned over the front rail of
the grandstand, in the centre of the judges' bench waving her
handkerchief excitedly; the bit of sheer linen slipped from her
trembling fingers and fluttered to the ground. Quick as a flash Holt
spurred ahead and wheeling in a circle in front of the judges' stand,
swinging his body lithely he leaned and picked up the bit of linen
from the ground, wheeled shortly again and handed it to its owner.
Then he was off like a flash down the track on the last round but a
quarter of the way behind the rest, his wonderful advantage lost!
"Oh-hh-hhh!" went up in dismay from a hundred throats; and "Ah-hh-h!"
in appreciation. It was a pretty bit of gallantry; a skilful trick
of horsemanship, but, oh, the pity of it, to lose the race for a
handkerchief! The crowd could hardly forgive him. Who cared about
all the rest? They were but secondary now even though he had fallen
behind. What madness and folly when the handkerchief could have
waited, or was he doing it to be smart? The crowd were angry at
their sudden loss, and began to think how just like Jasper Holt it
was to trifle with them so, when suddenly they sat up and took
notice. Was the race lost after all? Jasper Holt had passed the
last two riders and was running neck and neck with the third, and now
he passed the fourth from the end. There were but two more to pass.
Still, the others were nearly to the three-quarter line, and the
foremost was Captain Wetherill with his powerful roan mare. He was
riding hard and meant to win. There was a bitter, haughty look upon
his face. His triumph would be spoiled by all that gallery play that
had preceded it, though it was plain he felt the victory easy now.
Would Holt attempt to pass him? It seemed impossible, yet on he
came, his black skimming like a swallow on the outside of the ring,
gaining, gaining, every second, and the rider with his easy,
nonchalant air, sitting as if the winning were a matter of
indifference to him. The crowd stood up and shouted now, a deafening
din, and Jean stood with them, holding her breath in wonder and
excitement. The man who rode second was but a few paces ahead when
his horse suddenly swerved outward, staggered and fell, carrying the
rider down with him straight in the track of Holt, coming on at his
terrible pace.
The shouting hushed in tightening throats as the crowd waited for the
terrible catastrophe that seemed inevitable. Then, before they were
fully aware of the danger, the black horse had leaped over the sudden
obstacle, and was racing neck and neck with the Captain's horse and
gaining every step.
Only fifty yards remained to be run.
Breathlessly the crowd stood and watched as the two leaders sped
forward. Would he make it? Would it be possible after all the
hindrances for mortal rider to compass that?
The Captain was on his mettle now, spurring his horse to its utmost,
but still the black kept easily with him. Like two motes in the
sunshine set to swim in unison the racers looked to the excited crowd
as they skimmed along together.
Jean clutched the rail in front of her, her eyes blinded once more by
sudden tears of excitement, her heart thumping wildly till it seemed
as if all those about her must hear it.
Suddenly, incredibly, the black seemed to take on new speed!
A gasp from the crowd, a breath of satisfaction, and then through her
tears Jean saw the black leap ahead of his rival and clear the line
with a lead of fully ten feet!