A mighty shout went up among the white men as the blooded racer was led to the Colonel's office. One or two formalities, and the two hundred and fifty dollars was paid over to Red Cloud. Blazing Star was hastily examined, found in perfect trim, then handed over to the Irish hostler.
"You take him to the stable," was all the Colonel said, but he said it in large capital letters and it was full of grim threats and reminder, hostler Mike led the lost darling back to the stable where a crowd of men were waiting.
Red Cloud crammed the new wealth into his tobacco pouch and rode away at the head of his men.
Al Rennie felt sick with disgust that he should fail when the trail was fresh, while the Sioux, on a washed-out trail, made such a showing in so short a time. He was puzzled, too, by the scalps. The two he managed to examine were not fresh. But he had to swallow his disgust.
All that day the Indian bands had been going off. Their camps were breaking up; they were dispersing to their homes. The Plain was nearly deserted that afternoon when hostler Mike took Blazing Star out into the heat of the sun to give him the thorough washing and cleaning that he surely needed. A minute later, Mike came rushing across the square to the Colonel's office.
"Colonel, Colonel," he gasped, "come here, sir."
"What's the matter with you?" said the Colonel in a voice of wrath which boded ill for a new blunder.
"Colonel, come at once. Come, it's Blazing Star."
There was a total lack of soldier decorum in the hostler's address. He was so intensely excited that the Colonel overlooked the informality and went quickly to where Blazing Star was standing tied to the washing post.
"There, sir; look there—and there!" ejaculated Mike with growing excitement, as he pointed to Blazing Star's legs. "And look at that!" and he swept his bony finger round the big liquid eye of the racer. The Colonel looked, looked closer, parted the hair, looked down to the roots and saw paint—red paint, white paint, black paint—traces of horseshoes, red hands, white patches and stripes; not much, but enough to tell the tale.
Without a question, Blazing Star was the Pinto that had won the race!
The simple Red men knew that the Buckskin was overmatched, so they secured the only horse on the plains that could win. They drove the Crows away at the right moment to leave a red herring trail. Then, having captured the stakes, they calmly collected two hundred and fifty dollars for restoring him to his owner. The simple Red men!
And when Jim Hartigan heard of it he yelled with joy. He laughed; he almost cried. After all, his horse had won; his Blazing Star was the steed of all the plains. He was tossed with different moods—regret and joy, grim humour, sadness and madness; he was stirred to the depths; all his primitive nature was set free. He did not sleep for hours, and when the dawn was near, his boyhood memories filled his brain and he was back in the livery stable garret once again, and repossessed of all his boyhood's ways and words he softly swore himself to sleep.
CHAPTER XLIV
A Fair Rider
Life at Cedar Mountain had dropped to normal. Charles Bylow and his wife were regular church members now, and no warmer, truer friends on earth had Hartigan. Pat Bylow had gone to Deadwood seeking work on the railway and it was said that his wife was still importing an occasional flask; but no more sprees took place. Jack Lowe had left Cedar Mountain abruptly after the Bylow affair. Higginbotham had spread the truth about Lowe's part in the drugged liquor and the schoolteacher had received pointed advice to leave the town. He lost no time. Dr. Carson and Jack Shives were alternately confronting each other with abstruse problems; John and Hannah Higginbotham were building an addition to their house and getting a hired girl; and old man Boyd was worrying over a possible extension of the road to Deadwood, which might seriously hurt his business.
Jim found life very sweet as he grew into the hearts of the townsfolk and came to know their perfectible qualities; he was acquiring a fine reputation for pulpit oratory. Every Thursday and every Sunday afternoon and evening were spent at the Boyds' as their accepted son-in-law to be. On these occasions it was his keenest pleasure to lay his sermons and plans before Belle for her criticism and approval. When they were not together indoors, they were in the saddle together; all the world knew, understood, and wished them joy.
The Hoomers had come to be prominent in the church now—at least, Ma Hoomer and Lou-Jane had. It was Lou-Jane's doing. And Hartigan, after long delay, felt bound to pay them a pastoral visit. Lou-Jane was heartiness and propriety combined. She chatted gaily on every subject he opened; showed no forwardness; was even shy when, after dinner, he sat down near her. Her riding at the racetrack was vividly in his mind and she blushed quite prettily when he referred to it in admiration.
"You should see my pony take a fence," she said.
"Well, sure; that's what I'd like to see," was the response.
"Some day soon, maybe."
"Why not now?" he inquired.
"I must help mother with the dishes."
And he thought: "Isn't she fine? I like a girl to consider her mother." But he lingered and chatted till the dishes were washed; then he suggested: "If I go out and saddle your pony, will you show me that jump?"
"Certainly," she answered, with a merry laugh.
He went to the stable, saddled and brought the bay horse. Lou-Jane put her foot in the stirrup and swung into the saddle before he could offer his help.
"Drop all the bars but the middle one." Hartigan did so, leaving only the three-foot bar of the pasture. Lou-Jane circled off and cleared it without an effort.
"Raise it one," she shouted.
He did so, and over she went.
"Again."
Now, at four feet, the pony rose and went over.
"Another," and he raised to four and a half feet. As before, she and her pony sailed over like one creature.
"Again," and he raised it to five feet. The pony rose with just a hint of effort. One front hoof touched, but he made the jump in triumph. Lou-Jane laughed for joy and circled back, but, warned by that toe tap, jumped no more. She leaped from the saddle before Jim could come near to help and in his frank, beaming admiration she found what once she had hungered for in vain.
As he rode away that day, his unvoiced thought was: "Isn't she fine—and me misjudging her all the time! I'm ashamed of myself."
Lou-Jane watched him out of sight, waving a hand to him as he topped the hill. The visit and Hartigan's open delight in her riding had stirred her very much. Was it loyalty to Belle that led her to throw up a barrier between herself and the Preacher? or was it knowledge that the flowers are ever fairest in the fenced-in field? This much was sure, the interest of passing attraction was giving place to a deeper feeling. A feeling stronger every month. Lou-Jane was in the game to win; and was playing well.
August, bright and fruit-giving, was passing; September was near with its dryness, its payments on the springtime promises; and Belle, as she gazed at the radiant sky or the skurrying prairie dogs that tumbled, yapping, down their little craters, was tormented with the flight of the glowing months. In October the young Preacher and she must say good-bye for a long, long time, with little chance of any break till his course was completed, and he emerged a graduate of Coulter. That was a gloomy thought. But others of equal dread had come of late.