The Scifi & Fantasy Collection

by L. Ron Hubbard

  “‘Don’t mind if I do’ is right,” said Cliff. “Hank, bring Thunder Mountain over here. Do you think you can boot him through as a winner, Pat?”

  Pat, a jockey, gave Cliff a white-toothed grin. “I reckon I can, Mr. Neary.”

  Tony watched all this with eyes which got wider and wider. Then he began to laugh. “Listen, pal,” he said to the jockey, “this is pretty tough company you’re riding in. The last three jocks that tried to beat me got buried, with horseshoes of roses. I don’t beat easy, see?”

  The jockey grinned and helped Hank bring Thunder Mountain up to the rail. The horse was a big, powerful stallion that Cliff had bought for quite a piece of change. He was being kept under blankets until the Neary Stables could make a cleanup with him. Thunder Mountain, Cliff fondly believed, could make Man o’ War look like he was tied to a post.

  Stardust breathed easily now and cavorted a trifle, edging near Thunder Mountain. That worthy, having horse sense, took one look at the bogus filly and whistled shrilly, backing off.

  “Whoa now, boy,” said Cliff. “I never saw you lady-shy before.”

  Thunder Mountain reared, shook his head angrily, and whistled again, backing even further away from Stardust. Gadget took his cue and removed his automagic horse down to the gate.

  Presently they had both mounts behind the wire. And the race was ready to be run. The trainer held up a blank cartridge pistol, Angus got ready to release the gates, and Cliff eagerly yelled some final riding instructions to Pat. Gadget tried not to appear too interested in the control box on which he was sitting.

  The gun roared. The gates sprang up. And horse and pseudo-horse were off in a cloud of sawdust. Gadget had to trust to it that the last running speed would at least keep in distance of Thunder Mountain until they reached the homestretch. Then he hoped he could adjust matters. The six crisp thousand-dollar bills were weighted down by a rock, in company with another half dozen just like them which were fresh from Cliff’s purse.

  Angus, up higher, could see better. He began to make wild signals toward Gadget, who turned up the running speed a notch.

  The horse and pseudo-horse came into the backstretch with Thunder Mountain a full furlong in the lead.

  The shrill “Ki yi” of Tony rose above the wheezes and grunts of the running mounts and the pounding of their hoofs. Angus was making despairing motions with his hands, and glancing sideways now and then at Gadget.

  O’Dowd was not idle. He pulled up the dial and very perceptibly Stardust began to close. When they were still seventy-five yards from the finish a wide gap yet remained. Gadget upped his dial another notch. Stardust’s stride lengthened. Thunder Mountain, straining and lathered, felt the pseudo-horse surge alongside. He put on another burst of speed. But he was no match for Gadget’s fingers on the dial. Stardust came neck and neck with Thunder Mountain.

  In a close finish there was still no argument. Stardust had won!

  Cliff turned disconsolately to Hank. “I thought you said that Thunder Mountain could run,” he said. “Oh, well, easy come, easy go. Mr. O’Dowd,” he added with a bow, “the money is yours, suh. And it is a pleasure to lose to such a gallant gentleman.”

  Gadget stood looking at the fluttering green leaves. His conscience was hurting him.

  “Mr. Neary,” he said, “perhaps I ought to tell you that that horse of mine—”

  “No, no,” said Cliff, “a race is a race.” He was looking at the mounts as they came up. They were blowing and whistling from their run. “Say now, that’s mighty peculiar. That Stardust of yours doesn’t even seem to be winded.”

  Gadget’s heel came down on the control box. And Stardust really began to blow.

  “No, he really isn’t—I mean she really isn’t,” said Gadget. “In fact, I dare say, she could probably run another race if she had to.”

  Cliff looked up alertly. He glanced at the twelve bills and then at O’Dowd. “You don’t mean to tell me that you’d be willing to risk another slight run for the money?”

  “Well, now,” said Gadget reluctantly, “I think I probably owe it to you, Mr. Neary. Just the same—”

  “Well, say no more,” said Cliff. “Hank, bring up Sassy Lassie and we’ll spin her around again. That is, of course, Mr. O’Dowd, if you have no objections?” If a man wanted to run a blown horse, who was Cliff Neary to refuse the money.

  Gadget didn’t, and the horses were soon lined into position. Sassy Lassie turned out to be a high-strung filly that the perspiring Pat found hard to manage. She tried to climb the rail, then the starting gate, and finally consented to stay in position. Twenty-four thousand dollars, twelve of it in the form of a check on Cliff’s bank, were now secured by the rock. “We can’t wait forever,” said Cliff, afraid Stardust would get rested; “let ’em go.”

  The pistol banged, the gate lifted, and horse and reasonable-facsimile-thereof rocketed out into the track. Angus was standing high up, madly chewing Brown’s Mule, and wondering about the strength of the various pins and cogs. He was wishing that he had foreseen this turn of affairs when he was at his forge.

  Gadget, having surreptitiously tuned Stardust’s eyes to a set distance off the rail, looked up to Angus anxiously for a signal. Gadget’s conscience was hurting him. He liked Cliff because Cliff was a swell guy. “But when he finds out what the cause is he’ll laugh about it,” Gadget apologized to himself. Many times before he had vowed that he would pay the studio and his victims back once the fact had been accomplished and man had made a voyage to the moon. His conscience thus assuaged, he was willing to forget it and enjoy the horse race.

  Angus was making wild motions and Gadget upped the speed notch, only to find out that Angus’ arm signals became wilder. Accordingly, Gadget slowly backed it down again. An action which resulted in the Scot’s relaxation.

  The filly and Stardust came scrambling into the stretch, pounding forward, straining every muscle and kingpin. Stardust was about eight lengths in the lead. Gadget understood his mechanic’s earlier concern. Evidently the pseudo-horse had been traveling like a jet-job around the first turn. Gadget backed off the control dial even further and let Sassy Lassie catch up. They finished in a cloud of dust and hurrahs, out of which the fact dissolved that Sassy Lassie had been whipped by half a length.

  After a little, Pat and Tony came back. The jockey was blowing and round-eyed.

  “Mr. Neary,” said Pat, “that there Stardust run away from me at the start like an airplane. I didn’t think I’d ever catch up.”

  “It’s all right, Pat,” said Cliff. “Some days you can’t ever see the back of your neck. Mr. O’Dowd, that’s some horse you’ve got there. I wish there was a little more light, I’d like to look at her teeth.”

  “Oh, her teeth are just fine, fine,” said Gadget.

  “I’m serious,” said Cliff. “Now probably you’ve got a lot of things to do besides monkey with a hobby like racehorses. Personally, it’s not very lucrative. And if you are just starting out you ought to take the advice of the old master and give it up at the beginning, while you are still on the winning end. There, you’re twenty-four thousand dollars richer—”

  “Eighteen,” said Gadget. “I’ve got no objection to horse racing, Mr. Neary. There are just some people who can make money out of it and some people can’t. Didn’t you say that you had another horse around here?”

  “Well, fan my brow,” said Cliff. “Don’t tell me that that filly of yours can run again?”

  “It’s like this,” said Gadget, “I’ve raised her up from a . . . colt. She wouldn’t be nothing but skin and bones if it weren’t for me. And she knows it. She appreciates a good trainer when she has one. She’d be happy to run another race. Of course, I’ll admit it’s kind of dark—”

  “See here, now,” said Cliff, “if you think you can do it without wind-breaking her, I’ve got Old Hundred over here. He’s one of the fastest geldings I ever had in my stables. If you don’t mind taking another check?”

  There was a
sliver of the moon showing in the west. Gadget cocked one eye at it and then looked at Cliff. “Mr. Neary, that check is good enough for me.”

  Old Hundred came up and went down. And when the dust had settled, Cliff stood with his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket, the brim of his hat pulled down, and his shoulders hunched with chill.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Neary,” said Pat, climbing down from Old Hundred. “When we got into the stretch I just plain couldn’t even see that filly’s tail. She was that far ahead. Maybe I just ain’t much of a rider, Mr. Neary.”

  “Oh, say not so,” said Cliff, putting his arm around Pat’s shoulders. “You’re just up against a wonder horse, that’s all.” He snapped his fingers, whistled, and looked at Gadget. “That’s three times I’ve been trimmed, Mr. O’Dowd. You wouldn’t consider selling that horse, would you?”

  With Angus and Tony looking on and gaping, O’Dowd gazed first at his toes, then at the moon, and then at Mr. Neary. Gadget knew his danger here. If he didn’t go along with this sale, Cliff, horse-hungry, would become more and more insistent, finally discovering the extremely mechanical identity of Stardust—a discovery which would lead to argument.

  “Well, I might entertain an option,” said Gadget, “on one condition.”

  “Well, now, a little old thing like a condition,” said Cliff, “shouldn’t stand between a couple of good horse-traders.”

  “The condition is that she won’t ever be used for breeding purposes.”

  “I think that could be arranged,” said Cliff. He looked kind of sly and disinterested. “Would . . . er . . . fifty thousand dollars make the deal attractive? Say, ten thousand now as an option and forty thousand dollars tomorrow?”

  “Oh, I can’t deliver her right away,” said Gadget. “She’s on a special diet and I wouldn’t dare take her off of it. You’d be surprised how that diet affects her. I have been making some scientific observations on her, too. And they won’t be complete till Thursday morning.”

  Angus and Tony looked on in amazement. They had never got used to the glib and convincing way Gadget had with him when the necessity demanded it.

  “Why Thursday morning?” said Cliff.

  “Well, I’ve got to observe the final effects of this diet. And then you can have her.”

  “You’ll give me the diet, too?”

  “You bet I will,” said Gadget.

  Cliff finished writing out his check and gave Gadget his hand. “It’s a deal, my boy. My trainer will be up at your place Thursday morning to pick up the filly. Come along, Hank, let’s get out of this place while we still have enough money left to pay Uncle Sam his income tax. Goodbye, Mr. Marconio and Mr. McBane. Come on, Pat, you’ll be riding winners yet.”

  Gadget stood looking after them as they left.

  Angus grabbed his arm. “Och, laddie, how terrible it will be, the sight of you behind bars. Not only are you sellin’ him somethin’ that ain’t a horse, but it’s the property of United Pictures. Crime does not pay, me boy.”

  “Not very well, anyway,” said Gadget, thinking of Miss Franklin. “But cheer up. We have till Thursday morning to think up the rest of the idea.”

  “You mean you don’t know?” said Tony.

  “No, not yet,” said Gadget.

  “What a noive,” said Tony, “what a noive! Let’s load up and get out of here before you have any more of these half-thought-up ideas.”

  “Remind me when we get home to put the entry in my book: ‘Eighteen thousand dollars to be paid back with interest to Mr. Cliff Neary.’ He was just too nice about it. I haven’t got the heart to take the money without putting it in my book to be paid off. Even if we did win it fair and square. After all, he asked us to race, we didn’t ask him,” Gadget said.

  “What about the option money?” Tony asked.

  “Don’t worry, we’ll figure out something.” Gadget seemed rather cheered now that he had decided to put Cliff’s name in the book as one of those to be repaid when the trip was finally made. He fingered the checks and even whistled a little on the way home.

  Stardust, having successfully broken down six doors without having sustained any injury, left the western set north of San Fernando in a shocking state of disrepair, and on Wednesday the shooting of the picture started on schedule.

  At seven o’clock in the morning everybody bundled up and went on out to the location at Gray’s Ranch. Amongst the usual horseplay between the cameramen and the assistant directors, Gadget looked over the scene of action.

  A big flimsy barn had been built. The rooftree was sawed half through and when the building burned, that roof would come down, but quick. Wires and pulleys would assist the cave-in of the roof, and mounds of hay containing flares were piled all about. The property man was giving the hay a final sloshing with smudge solution. There had to be a lot of smoke.

  The stuntman went over the place to make sure there was nothing to trip over. He was a devil-may-care young man to all appearances. But in common with all good stuntmen, the largest part of his daredeviltry consisted in the minuteness with which he planned the staging of his scenes. He bore several scars and had a slight limp, all of which came from some director’s miscalculation in regard to falling off cliffs or leaping through plate glass windows.

  The stuntman spent a few moments with Gadget going over the details of the shot.

  Veronica Morris and Peter Butler were there eating a belated breakfast in the shade of Butler’s dressing room trailer. Marty Fitzgibbons was regaling them with an English music-hall anecdote.

  “Hello, Gadget,” Mr. Butler called out. “That’s Gadget O’Dowd over there,” he told Miss Morris.

  “Where? Oh, hello, Mr. O’Dowd. I hope you fixed it so that poor stuntman won’t get hurt. I’d feel pretty dreadful if anything happened to him for my sake.”

  “He’ll make it all right,” said Gadget, accepting the leg of chicken that Mr. Butler’s valet handed him.

  “Let’s see it,” said Mr. Butler, interested and getting up.

  “Now, now, folks,” said the director. “There’s no hurry about this. Morning, Miss Morris. I’ll have a cup of that coffee if you don’t mind. Well, I see that you got the horse here all right, Gadget.”

  “I want to see that thing in action,” said Mr. Butler. “I almost died laughing over that mechanical monkey Gadget built for the last Tarzan picture.”

  “Oh, I remember that,” said Miss Morris. “He was certainly a wonderful ‘animal.’ Where is it now, Mr. O’Dowd? I don’t suppose you could be persuaded to part with it?”

  “The last I saw of it,” said Gadget, “it was jumping up and down on Jacky Bocker’s front lawn. When the accountancy department gets through with me I suppose it will be lying on the scrap-metal heap in some local junkyard.”

  A cameraman came up with an assistant director. “We got three cameras on it, sir.”

  “Well, make sure you get it the first time,” said the director. “That barn will only burn once.”

  Gadget put down the chicken bone. “I suppose that’s my cue,” he said.

  “I’ve got to see this,” said Mr. Butler. He picked up his “bad man’s hat” and followed O’Dowd over toward the horse trailer. Angus was ready with the control box. And Tony let down the back gate. Stardust stopped being immobile and began to champ and whinny. She backed down the ramp, turned, pricked up her ears and, at Gadget’s tip-off wink to Angus, Stardust came nuzzling up to Veronica Morris for a piece of sugar.

  “Why, it’s a real horse,” said Veronica.

  “Not if you put your ear to it,” said Gadget.

  “Why, that’s Stardust,” said Mr. Butler, “that won the sweepstakes.”

  The director took one look and turned to the script girl. They put their heads together for a moment and the director came up. “It won’t do,” he said. “Two scenes further along, that we’ve already shot, have a sorrel without any forehead blaze.”

  “Sorry,” said Gadget. “They didn’t give me a scrip
t. Angus, hand that box of paint down here.”

  In a very short space of time, watercolor had remedied the situation handsomely. And the script girl was satisfied. The property man came over and saddled Stardust with the proper riding equipment. The stuntman gave his mount wide-eyed admiration.

  “Mind if I try a couple of tests on it?” he said. He mounted up. Gadget made the horse prance, cavort and strike with its front feet. Finally he put Stardust into a dashing run.

  “Well, for once,” said the cameraman, “we won’t have to speed the film up on that one. That hunk of junk can really get out of here.”

  The director gave the order for “Places!” The sound man took his tests. The front doors to the barn were securely barred on the stuntman. Gadget took up his station just off scene, where he could look through a window into the barn, see the front door and the road which went off along the side of the corral. He had his control box all adjusted and tuned.

  “Camera!” said the director. “Action!” An expert archer sent a blazing arrow across the scene into an explosives-loaded hay pile at the front of the barn. A second firebrand followed it, sticking in the side wall. A third thunked solidly into the shingles and in a moment the dry explosive-impregnated material flared and yellow fire curled greedily across the structure. More hay piles caught. A second stuntman ran forward. He was dressed in Huguenot garb. He pitched a torch in through the barn window.

  The flames were beginning to crackle and roar. Gadget waited until the entire front of the building was blazing. Then, with an urgent wave from the assistant director, he set Stardust in motion. The roof was already beginning to sway. The temperature in the barn must have mounted to about a hundred and thirty degrees. Stardust began to plunge and rear.

  Then it dashed forward, flung up its hoofs, and brought them down solidly against the doors.

  Outside, on signals, two Huguenot soldiers came up to lower arquebuses at the entrance. The doors caved. The assistant director’s men gave a yank and the roof started down.