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FAST AS THE WIND
A NOVEL
By NAT GOULD
AUTHOR OF "The Rider in Khaki," Etc.
[Decoration]
A. L. BURT COMPANY
Publishers New York
Published by arrangement with Frederick A. Stokes Company
_Copyright, 1918, by_
FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY
_All rights reserved_
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. THE BOOM OF A GUN 1
II. STORY OF AN ESCAPE 10
III. THE MAN ON THE ROAD 20
IV. THE WOMAN AT THE TABLE 30
V. PICTON'S WINNING MOUNTS 40
VI. IN BRACK'S COTTAGE 50
VII. A CRITICAL MOMENT 59
VIII. ON BOARD THE "SEA-MEW" 69
IX. LENISE ELROY 79
X. HAVERTON 88
XI. TEARAWAY AND OTHERS 97
XII. "I THINK HE'S DEAD" 106
XIII. A WOMAN'S FEAR 115
XIV. NOT RECOGNISED 124
XV. "THE ST. LEGER'S IN YOUR POCKET" 132
XVI. HOW HECTOR FOUGHT THE BLOODHOUND 140
XVII. AN INTRODUCTION AT HURST PARK 149
XVIII. CONSCIENCE TROUBLES 158
XIX. "WHAT WOULD YOU DO?" 165
XX. RITA SEES A RESEMBLANCE 174
XXI. BRACK TURNS TRAVELER 182
XXII. DONCASTER 191
XXIII. THE CROWD IN THE RING 200
XXIV. "BY JOVE, SHE'S WONDERFUL" 208
XXV. FAST AS THE WIND 216
XXVI. THE STRUGGLE FOR THE CUP 224
XXVII. THE RESERVED COMPARTMENT 233
XXVIII. HOW HECTOR HAD HIS REVENGE 241
XXIX. AN ASTONISHING COMMUNICATION 250
XXX. TEARAWAY'S PROGENY 258
FAST AS THE WIND
CHAPTER I
THE BOOM OF A GUN
A small but splendidly built yacht steamed slowly into Torbay, passed
Brixham and Paignton, and came to anchor in the outer harbor at
Torquay. It was a glorious spring morning, early, and the sun shone on
the water with a myriad of dancing reflections; it bathed in light
the beautiful town, the scores of villas nestling on the heights
surrounding it, the palms on the terrace walk, on the mass of greenery
clothing foot to summit, on the inner harbor, and on the rocky coast
stretching out towards Anstey's Cove and Babbacombe Beach. It was a
magnificent sight, the arts of man and nature mingled together, for
once harmonizing, for Torquay has not been spoilt by builders, at
least as seen from the bay. Behind, Brixham way, the red sails of the
fishing boats flapped lazily in an idle breeze. Four men-of-war lay
still in the bay, guardians of the peace, comforting, reassuring,
a hint of what lay behind. How peaceful these monsters of the deep
looked. Slumbering surely were they. What was that? A puff of white
smoke, then a solemn sound, which sped across the bay, and echoed over
the hills. One of the monsters had spoken, just to show it was wide
awake.
It had a curious effect on the man leaning over the side of the
_Sea-mew_, the yacht that had just come to anchor. It startled him
from his reverie, from his contemplation of all that was so beautiful
around him.
For a moment he looked across at the warships, and saw the smoke
drifting away, then he turned and looked over the town and its
heights, and his thoughts went far and landed on Dartmoor.
Another gun boomed out. This time it seemed more natural. Again the
echo ran over the hills, and again he turned and looked towards that
vast moor which lay behind.
"Supposing it were true," he muttered. "Would to God it were, and that
he were safe on board my yacht. All for a woman, and such a woman!"
He clenched his fist and struck the rail.
Picton Woodridge, owner of the _Sea-mew_, was a man of about thirty,
tall, good looking, genial, popular, but lonely, if a popular man
can be described as lonely, and there are such men. He was rich,
a sportsman. His stable at Haverton contained good horses: a Derby
winner in prospect, one of the best stayers in England, and above all
Tearaway, a black filly, three years old, described by her trainer,
Brant Blackett, as "a beauty, a real gem, and fast as the wind."
He ought to have been a happy man. To all outward appearances he was,
but behind a smiling face there is sometimes a heavy heart. It was not
exactly so in his case, yet there was something of it. There was one
black shadow cast over his gilded path, and the echo of the gun from
the man-of-war had deepened it.
"Why the deuce did I come here?" he muttered. "Why did I promise Dick
I'd ride for him at Torquay races?"
He sighed; he knew why he had promised Dick Langford to ride for him;
he would do a good deal more than this for Dick, for the sake of his
sister Rita. He had no other companion on the yacht than Ben Bruce,
captain of the _Sea-mew_, who stood towards him in the light of his
best friend.
Ben Bruce was a character in his way. He had been in the Navy, on the
same ship with Picton's father, and Admiral Woodridge and the young
officer had esteem and affection for each other. Lieutenant Bruce
often came to Haverton in the Admiral's time and was always a welcome
guest. He had known Picton from a boy, and shared the Admiral's
fondness for the somewhat lonely child, whose mother died at his
birth, and whose elder brother was generally away from home, training
for the Army. Bruce remembered the elder boy, Hector, but had not seen
so much of him, or become so attached to him as to Picton. Hector was
of a different disposition, hasty, headstrong, willful, and yet the
brothers were much attached, and when at home together, were seldom
apart. There were ten years between them; consequently Hector regarded
himself in the light of a protector to Picton.
The Admiral loved them and endeavored to treat them equally in
his affection, but it was not difficult to see the younger had the
stronger hold over him. Hector saw it and smiled. He was not at all
jealous; he felt if it came to choosing, and one of them had to be
relied upon, his father would select him. And such would probably have
been the case had occasion occurred, but it did not, and everything
went on the even tenor of its way until the fatal day when a terrible
thing happened and Hector became, so Picton was positively certain,
the victim of a woman's wiles. What this happening was we shall learn.
Sufficient to say, it caused the Admiral to retire. He never got
over the shock, and died soon after he left the Navy. The bulk of his
fortune was left to Picton, who was determined, when the time came,
to surrender to Hector his proper share. Captain Ben Bruce left the
service soon after the Admiral he had loved and served. He was, so to
speak, a poor man, and when he came to Haverton, to his old chief's
funeral, Picton begged him to stay with him for a few months to
relieve his loneliness. This he readily consented to do. The months
extended, and Picton would not let him go; he relied on the stronger
man, who had carved his way upward by his own exertions. Ben Bruce
protested, all to no purpose.
"I can't do without you," said Picton. "You were my father's friend,
he had every confidence in you; you are one of the executors, you are
the proper man to remain here and run the show."
Ben Bruce laughed.
"Run the show!" he said. "Not much chance of that even if I wished
it. You've a good head on your shoulders, and one quite capable of
managing your affairs. If I stay, mind I say _if_, it will not be on
that account."
"It doesn't matter to me on what account you stay so long as you
consent to remain," said Picton. "There's so much to do here; I am
short of a companion--you know I don't take to everyone. There's
another thing--although you're a sailor you are fond of horses, and a
good rider, and I say, Ben, I've a proposition to make."
Again Ben Bruce laughed.
"You've got a fresh proposition almost every week, and it's nearly
always something in my favor."
"This will be to your liking, as well as, if you think so, in your
favor."
"What is it?"
"Take charge of the Haverton horses--be my manager."
"What about Blackett?"
"He'll not mind; in fact he'll like it. I put it to him; he seemed
rather enamored of the prospect of being closely connected with
Captain Bruce, the friend of his adored Admiral. There wasn't a
man living Blackett loved more than my father; I think it was the
combination of the sea and the stable appealed to him. Blackett
always had an idea, so he told me, until he became acquainted with the
Admiral, that sailors were duffers where horses were concerned. 'But I
soon found out the difference,' he said; 'the Admiral knew pretty near
as much about a horse as I did. Of course I taught him a thing or two,
but he was a good judge, he knew the points of a horse pretty near as
well as he did the parts of a battleship.' That's Blackett's opinion,
and he has an idea Captain Bruce has leanings in the same direction as
the Admiral, so you can't raise any objections on that score."
It did not take much persuasion to induce Captain Bruce to consent,
and he became manager of Haverton Stables and, as a natural
consequence, remained with Picton Woodridge.
At the same time Picton said to him, with a serious face: "There's
something else, far more important than anything I have mentioned.
You've to help me to clear Hector; you believe him innocent, don't
you, Ben, you can't do otherwise?"
Ben Bruce was silent for a moment--Picton watched him anxiously--then
said, "Yes, I am sure he is innocent. He couldn't have done that, not
to secure any woman for himself; but it's a mystery, Picton, a grave
mystery, and it will take a far cleverer man than myself to unravel
it. I'll help you, I'll stick at nothing to help you and Hector."
"Thanks, old friend, thanks a thousand times. With your help there is
no telling what may be accomplished. There must be some way out of it;
such a terrible injustice cannot be allowed to go on for ever," said
Picton.
And so Captain Ben, as he was called, became the constant friend and
companion of Picton Woodridge. When the _Sea-mew_ was purchased it was
Captain Ben who clinched the deal, and was appointed "skipper."
"So I'm your stud manager and captain of your yacht, that's a queer
combination," said Ben.
"And you're as good in one capacity as the other," said Picton.
"I think I'm safer on deck than on a horse," said Ben.
It was Captain Ben Bruce who came quietly along the deck of the
_Sea-mew_ and looked at Picton Woodridge as he gazed over Torquay bay.
A kindly look was in his eyes, which were always bright and merry, for
he was a cheerful man, not given to look on the dark side of things.
His affection for Picton was that of a father for a son, in addition
to being a companion and a friend. He noticed the sad far-away look on
Picton's face, and wondered what it was that caused the shadow on this
beautiful April morning.
"I'll leave him to his meditations," he thought; "he'll be down for
breakfast, and I'll ask him then."
He was about to turn away when Picton looked round and said with a
smile: "Something told me you were there."
"Telepathy," said Ben.
"Sympathy," said Picton. "Do you know what I was thinking about?"
"No; I saw you were pensive. I'd have asked you at breakfast, you
looked so serious."
"I was serious."
"What caused the passing cloud on such a glorious morning?" asked Ben.
Picton took him by the arm, his grip tightened; with the other hand he
pointed to the battleship.
"The boom of a gun," he said; and Ben Bruce understood.