Gabriel's Triumph

by Alison Hart

  ***

  Someone’s shaking my shoulder. Hard. Fingers dig into my flesh. I jerk awake. It’s night, and I’m curled in the corner of Aristo’s stall. It’s so dark that at first I can’t see. Then two eyes blink at me.

  “Git out,” a voice hisses. “Git Aristo out. Now!” The last word is an urgent plea. I push myself to my feet just in time to see Short Bit steal from the stall, leaving the door ajar.

  I smell something burning.

  I rush to Aristo, who’s frozen in place, his nostrils quivering. Sticking my head over the half door, I see smoke billowing from a stall farther down the shed row.

  The barn’s on fire!

  Reaching around the doorway, I whip the rope off the hook and snap it to Aristo’s halter. I open the door, trying to keep my movements calm. The smoke’s so thick, I can barely see the other end of the barn. I hear the crackle of burning wood and the squeal of a terrified horse.

  Aristo’s trembling. “Come on, colt,” I croon. “Don’t get ornery on me. We’ve got to get out of here.”

  I twine my fingers through his mane, chirp encouragingly, and lead him in the opposite direction from the fire. The colt breaks into a nervous jog, and we hurry into the night air. When we’re out of danger, I turn. The fire’s moving slowly, fanning out toward both ends of the barn.

  Is this Gordon and Danny’s handiwork?

  In the glow of the flames, I see several workers forming a bucket brigade. Fire is a stable’s worst nightmare—hay and straw are ready fuel for flames—and a bucket brigade will be scant help. It won’t take long before the fire reaches Aristo’s stall.

  I hear the horse squeal again. Lizzie H. The mare was the only horse stabled at the other end. Is someone going after her? Or is it too late?

  “I’ve got to help her, ’Risto.” Quickly, I lead him to a small barn far from the fire. There’s an empty stall, rarely used, judging by the moldy smell. I guide Aristo inside, step out of the stall, and latch the door securely behind me. I know I shouldn’t leave him. But I couldn’t live with myself if I stood by and watched a horse burn to death.

  Rope in hand, I race toward the far end of the blazing barn. I crane my neck, trying to see Lizzie. Flames haven’t reached her stall, but the smoke’s thick, and the bottom door’s shut. Did someone get her out already?

  Then I see her muzzle poke over the half door. Her eyes are white with fear and she’s screaming as if in agony. Holding my breath, I plunge toward her through the smoke. When I open the door, she throws herself backward. Ain’t no way I can catch her. She’s too scared. I fling the door wide and stand back.

  “Run, Lizzie, giddup! Get out of there!” I wave my arms in the air, shooing her. She just stands there, trembling. I’ve heard of horses growing crazy from the fear and the smoke. It looks like Lizzie’s lost her wits, all right.

  I step inside. “Come on, pretty mare,” I croon. “You’ve got to get out of here. Fast.”

  She rears high, her forelegs pawing the smoke-filled air. Frantic, she lunges toward the open door, and I dive out of the way. My head hits her feed bucket, and for a second I’m dazed.

  Then smoke covers me like a thick blanket.

  Holding my breath, I fight my way to my feet. I can’t see a thing! Panic fills me. I blink and stretch out my hand, feeling for the door. Turning right, I slam into the wall. My eyes sting. Closing them against the burning, I grope along the wall. I gasp, unable to hold my breath any longer. My lungs fill with the acrid air, and I double over, coughing and retching.

  I turn left and move slowly, using the wall as a guide, but I crash into the feed bucket again and fall to my knees. My innards feel seared, my eyes are blind, and I can only hope for a quick end.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Strong hands cup my armpits and drag me through the straw and out the door. When I hit the cool air, I cough so long and hard I fear my ribs will crack. Then someone hands me a cup of water and I drink.

  “Gabriel, use this water to wash out your eyes and nose.”

  Gabriel. The person knows who I am. I peer through slitted eyes. It’s my old friend Jackson!

  He’s crouched beside a bucket, holding a dipper of water.

  “J-Jackson!” I stammer, and then I’m overcome with another coughing fit.

  He slaps me on the back. “Hack it out, boy.” Using a rag, he splashes water over my head and neck until I’m drenched and cool.

  “Is Lizzie H. all right?” I finally speak, my voice scratchy.

  “She’s fine, thanks to you.”

  “And Aristo?”

  “I posted a groom by his door for safekeeping.”

  Fear must have lit my face, because he adds quickly, “Don’t worry. It’s a boy I trust.” He frowns and his gaze goes back to the burning barn. “Not many you can trust round here.”

  My shoulders slump wearily. All my vigilance almost didn’t pay off. All my false bravado didn’t help matters, either. Aristo. Lizzie H. Both horses could have been killed in the fire. And me, too, I think with a shudder.

  “You saying someone set the barn on fire?” I whisper hoarsely.

  “I ain’t sayin’ it aloud. Too many ears.”

  I swallow, my throat dry and hot. I picture Short Bit stealing from Aristo’s stall. Did Gordon and Danny set the fire? Did Short Bit help them? If so, why did he warn me to get out?

  I study the men passing buckets down the line and throwing water on the fire, which, thankfully, is almost out. Danny and Gordon and Hooks and Cuffy are among them; there’s no sign of Short Bit.

  Bending over the bucket, I splash my face. Then I wipe it with the rag. The men are standing back now, staring at the soggy, charred walls and blackened roof of the barn.

  I rise to my feet. “Looks like the danger’s over,” I say to Jackson. “I best see to Aristo. Why don’t you come with me? See if the colt remembers your ugly face.”

  “Ugly to you, maybe, but handsome to the ladies,” he jokes.

  I laugh. “It’s sure good to see you, Jackson. Thanks for pulling me out of the fire.”

  “It’s not exactly what I had planned for this evening,” Jackson says as we set off across the grounds. He’s dressed all stylish in a vest, silk shirt, and checked britches. A matching checked cap tilts rakishly on his slicked-back hair.

  Jackson chortles. “Dang, boy, I couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw you lead Aristo into that empty stall and then run to help Lizzie. “What’s Gabriel Alexander doing in Saratoga?” I asked myself. Then I remembered Mister Giles talking a while back about bringing a horse to the meet, and it all made sense.” He shakes his head. “Only a fool Kentucky boy would rescue a horse from a burning stall.”

  “You were once a fool Kentucky boy. Must be why you rescued me.”

  “You callin’ me a fool?” Jackson raises his fists. For a second we spar, punching air. Then, grinning at each other, we fall into step again.

  “How long you been in Saratoga?” I ask. “I looked for you when we first arrived.”

  “Been here in New York State since I left Woodville. I’m jockeying for Doctor Crown, who has a farm south of here. I work his horses at the Saratoga track a lot. This afternoon we brought two horses for the meet.”

  “You a famous jockey yet?” I tease.

  “I’m gettin’ there.”

  “What races are you riding in? Not the Saratoga Chase, I hope.”

  “Naw. I’m jockeying a mare named Diamond Girl in the Saratoga Stakes. And a colt named Charley Riley in a hurdle race.”

  “A hurdle race? What’s that?”

  “A race over jumps.”

  I stop in my tracks. “No. You’re joshing me, Jackson.”

  “I ain’t. I learned how to jump a horse since I’ve been in New York. Learned lots of things since I been in New York.” He winks roguishly, and I gather the things he’s learned would make Ma blush.

  “So you like it here in the North?”

  “I do. It takes getting used to. But all in all, I’ve
found being here right powerful. Not so many folks giving you suspicious glances and asking for free papers.”

  “I wish I could say the same about being in the North.” I slow as I approach Aristo’s stall. Sitting on the ground, back against the door, is a light-skinned Negro. When he sees Jackson, he jumps to his feet. “Kept my eye on him, just like you wanted, Mister Jackson. No one bothered him, but the colt seems spooked.”

  “Thanks, Riff. Now go back and tell Angel to fix up that spare stall for this horse.” Jackson gives Riff a coin, and the boy hurries off. “That’s one of Doctor Crown’s grooms. He’s a good worker.” His eyes twinkle. “And his sister’s real pert, too.”

  “Why, Jackson, you ain’t changed a bit.” Laughing, I open the stall door. “It’s all right, ’Risto,” I soothe. The colt’s stomping and twitching, and he pushes me with his nose like he’s mad I ain’t been around.

  “Are you saying I can keep ’Risto over where Doctor Crown’s stabling his horses?” I ask Jackson.

  “I’m saying it. You can’t put the colt in that burned-out barn. Doctor Crown’s a fair man and he’ll understand the situation. Tomorrow morning, Mister Giles can make whatever arrangements he wants.”

  “Thanks. It’ll be good to have the colt someplace safe.” As we walk Aristo to the other barn, I tell Jackson about my run-in with Hooks and Cuffy on the train and my suspicions about Gordon, Danny, and Short Bit.

  “I don’t know those first fellows you’re naming,” Jackson replies, “but that Danny and Gordon ain’t worth spit. I doubt those two boys have a smart thought between them. If they did start the fire, someone put them up to it.”

  “What about Short Bit?”

  “Naw. Short Bit didn’t start the fire. He loves horses. He ain’t got no ma or pa, so horses are like his family.”

  I’m glad to hear Jackson’s opinion of Short Bit, but it don’t mean I wholly trust the boy. “He ain’t got no ma or pa?” I repeat, the thought amazing me.

  “That’s what’s known as an orphan,” Jackson explains.

  “You’re getting pretty smart, Mister Jackson,” I jest.

  “You best believe it. This way.” He gestures toward a small barn nestled in a grove of pines.

  “I did note that ’Risto took an instant liking to Short Bit.”

  “All the horses like Short Bit. That’s ’cause he’s more horse than person. Mister Baker lets him live in the barns, but I swear he treats the boy worse than a slave.”

  “Why does Short Bit hang around with Danny and Gordon?”

  “He don’t. Danny and Gordon seek him out. Saratoga is all about entertainment. And bullying Short Bit’s their entertainment.”

  I think about Short Bit’s new bruise. “Ain’t entertaining to him. Or me.”

  “Well, don’t be sticking up for Short Bit, or Danny and Gordon will make you pay.”

  I don’t tell Jackson they’ve already tried to make me pay.

  We head into the second barn, lit by a kerosene lamp sitting against one wall. Stalls are built on both sides of a wide dirt aisle, reminding me of the barns back home. As we walk past, several horses greet Aristo with sleepy whickers.

  “Over here, Jackson.” A man holding a hay fork gestures from the open doorway of a stall. In the lamplight his skin glows a rich mahogany brown, and his long, pitch-black hair is plaited in two braids

  I gape at the man. He’s dressed in a work shirt and jeans, and he’s barefoot like me. But he’s not colored, nor is he white. He’s like nothing I’ve ever seen.

  “That’s Angel,” Jackson says in a low voice. “He’s an Indian. He has a hard-to-say Indian name, so everyone just calls him Angel ’cause he can handle even a devil of a horse.”

  “An Indian?” I’ve never heard of such a person before.

  “Mohawk. Best horseman I’ve ever met—other than your pa.” When we near the stall, Jackson raises his voice. “Angel, meet Gabriel and Aristo,” he says, as I lead the colt into the stall. “Gabriel, this is Angel.”

  “H-howdy do,” I stammer before the Indian slips out of sight.

  “A man of few words,” Jackson says with a shrug.

  The stall is bedded with clean straw and the rack filled with sweet hay. I unhook the rope, pat Aristo, and shut the door. Aristo turns several times, sniffs every corner, nickers to the other horses, and then begins eating.

  Propping my arms on the closed door, I let out a weary sigh. Now that Aristo’s safe, a weight lifts off my shoulders.

  “How’s your pa?” Jackson asks. He’s standing beside me, a piece of straw clamped between his teeth.

  “Pa’s a corporal now,” I tell him. “In charge of organizing a colored cavalry.”

  Jackson whistles. “Soon he’ll be running Camp Nelson.”

  “And he helped Captain Waite rescue Mister Giles’s horses from a band of raiders,” I brag on.

  Jackson tips back his cap. “Do tell!”

  I launch into the tale, not forgetting to mention my own heroics. I push up my sleeve and show off my scar. “That’s where a Rebel bullet creased my skin. But thanks to quick wits—and the cavalry—the raiders didn’t get one horse. Mister Giles was so grateful that he gave me my freedom.”

  “Why, Gabriel, that’s powerful good news! What else happened after I left?”

  “Mistress Jane died a few weeks back and gave Annabelle her freedom, too. Ma’s joined Pa at Camp Nelson. She’s laundering clothes. And even though we saved Woodville from One Arm’s raiders, those cowardly Rebels stole Captain from me and Jase one day when we were on our way home from Lexington.” I tell him the story of meeting Butler and Keats and how Newcastle cheated Mister Giles out of the reward money.

  “You had two run-ins with guerrillas?” Jackson exclaims. “I’m amazed you ain’t dead.”

  I shrug like it’s no big thing. “Now that I look back on it, I’d rather face those Rebels any day than some of the Northerners I’ve met. At least I know the Rebels are snakes.”

  “I hope all that didn’t make you forget your dream about being a famous jockey.”

  “Oh, I’m still dreamin’. I’ve won two races since you left.” I nod toward Aristo. “And I’m aiming to win the Saratoga Chase on that colt, and get my name in the newspaper.”

  “Excuse me!” A voice breaks into our talk.

  I spin around. A man’s storming down the aisle between the stalls, waving a cane. He’s wearing a formal evening suit and a stovepipe hat, and in the lamplight his face looks menacing. Beside him, a second man in dusty work clothes tries to keep up.

  “Mister Sturgess, what brings you here this late hour?” Jackson asks, sounding surprised.

  Raising his cane, Mister Sturgess whacks my shoulder. “This colored boy brings me here. My groom Langley,” he points the tip of his cane at the man in work clothes, “says he saw this boy here set the barn on fire! I nearly lost one of my most valuable horses because of him.”

  I’m so startled by his words that I suck in a mouthful of air and start coughing again.

  Jackson draws himself up. “Beg your pardon, Mister Sturgess. Gabriel here saved your mare. That’s why he was in her stall. And he almost died getting her out.”

  “Doesn’t make him innocent.” Mister Sturgess raps me on the arm with the cane. “His master’s horse is entered in tomorrow’s race against Lizzie H. That’s reason enough to accuse him—to accuse them both of setting that fire to keep my mare from beating their horse.”

  Jackson—a head shorter than this white man, and colored to boot—doesn’t hesitate to defend me. “Sir, I know Gabriel and Mister Giles. Neither would do what you’re accusing them of.”

  Mister Sturgess scowls at him. “Are you doubting Langley’s word?”

  “With all due respect, sir, why don’t you smell Langley’s breath? Then ask him why he was drinking whiskey with the other grooms instead of watching your horse.”

  Mister Sturgess tightens his jaw. His gaze shifts to Langley, who suddenly beats a hasty retreat
from the barn.

  “Perhaps I was too quick to judge,” Mister Sturgess says, and strides off after Langley.

  “Apology accepted,” Jackson mutters.

  I blow out my breath. “Whew. I was feeling the noose around my neck.”

  “They’re not as quick to hang coloreds up here, Gabriel.”

  “Thanks for saving me, Jackson—that’s twice now.” I remember once calling Jackson a coward because he didn’t want to enlist in the army with Pa. Now I know there are many kinds of bravery.

  He shakes his head, grinning. “How’s one boy get in so much trouble?”

  I shake my head, too, not sure myself. “Earlier you said someone may have set the fire, and it looks like Mister Sturgess thought so, too. We know it wasn’t me. And you say it wasn’t Short Bit. Then who?”

  Taking off his cap, Jackson runs his hand over his slicked-back hair. “I wish I knew. You know how it is on the track. Nobody trusts anyone. And for good reason. There are high stakes at this meet, and I don’t mean just the purse money. Jockeys and owners want to strut down Broadway. They want to read their names in the paper. And they want their horses to head to the St. Louis meet as winners, not losers.”

  “That sounds like what you and me want.”

  “Only we want to earn it fairly.” Jackson settles his cap back on his head. “Get some sleep. Angel will keep an eye on Aristo. You got a big day tomorrow.”

  “I’m still sleeping in the stall with the colt. But I would like to get my supplies first.”

  Jackson frowns. “You stay right here. Angel and I will fetch your supplies.” He juts his chin toward the barn door. “Out there at night is nothing but trouble for a boy like you.”

  Trouble. A shiver travels up my spine. For certain, I don’t need any more trouble.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Aristo nuzzles my shoulder, and my eyes shoot open. It’s race day. I ain’t but moments awake—and it’s hours before the Saratoga Chase—but already my stomach’s knotted with excitement.

  This is it, I think. This is the day I’ve been waiting for.

  I stretch my arms from the blanket and roll over—right on top of a straw-covered lump.