* * *
Raleigh recognized other cowboys from the area, Owen Sawyer from the Parker ranch, another from the Lazy O, a pair from the Leaning Z among the thirty riders, and nodded at them.
“This is to be a clean race, gentlemen,” Phineas Daley, standing on a raised platform on the side of the road just beyond the bridge over Simpson Creek, shouted over the milling mass of horses, men and onlookers. “I would ask you to remember fair play above everything. There will be observers posted along the route. You will change horses just after Five Mile Hill, where Dr. Walker will be waiting, though hopefully we won’t need the good man.”
Raleigh heard nervous chuckles from some of the riders at this announcement.
“Then you will race on your second mounts to the banks of the Colorado River,” Daley went on, “a distance of nearly eight miles from the start, where the mayor will greet the winner. Now, if the well-wishers will clear the road, we will begin the race—and may the best man, riding the best pair of horses, win.”
“I’ll be praying for you, Raleigh,” Milly assured him as she shook his hand. “Tell Uncle Raleigh ‘good luck,’ Nicky,” she instructed her squirming son, keeping a firm hold on him.
“G’luck, Unca Raleigh. I wanna ride th’ horsie!” he cried, stretching out his arms.
“Another time, I’ll take you for a ride on Blue, Nicky, I promise. Thanks, Milly.” It had been nice of them to wait here with him, while Nick and Violet rode on the other side of Five Mile Hill. He wished Violet could be here. It would have been so calming to gaze into her deep blue eyes until the moment Daley fired his pistol from the raised platform and the horses galloped off.
Since she wasn’t here, it was too tempting for his gaze to stray to his far left, where Drew Allbright held one of his pair of stallions in check with some difficulty. The black beast, his coat as glossy as if it had been polished with oil, curvetted and sidled, bumping other horses, making them lay back their ears and snort. Allbright just grinned and called out insincere-sounding apologies, ignoring the irritated glares and mutters cast his way.
“Good boy, Blue,” Raleigh said, settling himself in the saddle and gathering up the reins as the roan flicked his ears to catch his rider’s words. He breathed a prayer of thanks for his calm, steady mount.
He felt Allbright’s gaze on him, but resisted the urge to look at the man’s smirking, cold face. He kept his own eyes trained on the road ahead, staring right between Blue’s forward-pricked ears.
Lord, keep me and my horses safe. Keep all the contestants from harm. The roads were already drying from the rays of the hot sun overhead, but there had been fallen branches everywhere, and one of the Brookfields’ pecan trees had been blasted by the bolt of lightning that had awakened the household last night.
Yet it wasn’t natural hazards he worried about as much as the tricks Allbright might pull. It was good to know Bishop and others were watching along the way.
He could feel the roan gathering himself as Daley called out, “Riders, ready...set...”
Daley’s “Go!” was drowned in the roar of the pistol. Thirty horses took off, leaving a cloud of dust sailing behind them.
He held Blue back as he had planned, letting the nervier horses set the pace. There was no use wearing out the roan in a fast, show-off start. Blue had “bottom,” as horsemen called the endless willingness and endurance of a good horse, but there was no point in using it up impressing the onlookers they passed on the way, sitting under trees, in buggies and on the backs of wagons. His stallion would need all his stamina for the final portion of his half of the race, the punishing, long grade at Five Mile Hill.
* * *
Ahead of him, Drew Allbright kept to the middle of the pack, knowing Masterson was somewhere behind him. He guessed the cowboy was holding in his mount, for he’d taken the measure of the other horses in the race and wondered why some of the riders had even bothered to enter. Blocky and compact, their mounts might have been fair-to-excellent cutting horses, but they’d flag early, he knew. The blue roan would be his best, maybe only competition in this leg of the race.
It had come as a surprise that the pinto mare Violet Brookfield had ridden when she’d deigned to go riding with him was Masterson’s choice for the second leg. He hadn’t known it until he’d spotted Masterson’s entry number “17” affixed to the back of the saddle blanket, and now he regretted not trying to place a spy at Colliers’ Roost.
He watched the Englishwoman ride off on the trim pinto mare past the starting point, flanked by her brother, and the coy little wave Violet had bestowed on Masterson, blast them both. He couldn’t wait to make her pay for her disloyalty.
If only he’d known this was Masterson’s second mount! He could have tested the pinto’s mettle by suggesting a gallop when he’d been with Violet Brookfield. It didn’t do anything to diminish his confidence, though. Even if the mare had speed, the Allbright brothers had a plan. To that end, Allen was perched in his hiding place in a clump of rocks in a hill that marked the beginning of the climb to Five Mile Hill.
It was a good thing Allen had chosen to be an army sniper in the war rather than a cavalry officer as Drew had. Drew had derided his twin’s choice then, but now his skill would come in quite handy.
* * *
“They’re coming!” a boy called, running back into the relay station. “I hear ’em!”
Violet strained her ears, but she couldn’t hear hoofbeats over the excited buzz from the crowd and those holding or walking second-string horses. The road wrapped itself around Five Mile Hill, preventing those waiting from catching the first glimpse of galloping horses, or the dust they’d be raising. The spyglass Nick had brought along would be useless.
“There they are!” she cried as a black horse, his sides heaving, raced neck and neck with a sorrel she’d seen earlier. Other entrants were clustered in a pack behind them, but none of them looked like Raleigh’s Blue. Where was Raleigh?
Lathered horses thundered into the changing station. It was clear the hill had taken its toll on all of them. She saw Allbright hand the horse he had ridden—Castor or Pollux, she didn’t know or care which—to the Mexican foreman she’d met that long-ago day at the branding, then jump on the other black, while others also switched mounts nearby.
“Where’s Raleigh?” she wondered again, this time aloud. The mare was sensing her worry, and shifted uneasily. Violet stroked the mare’s shoulder soothingly.
“He’ll come, never fear,” Nick muttered, but she could tell he was only trying to reassure her. He, too, had his gaze glued on the road.
“There’s a rider coming who’ll need yore help, Doc!” she heard one of the contestants shout out as he slid off his horse. “Heard a shot ring out back a ways, and looked back, but ever’one kept going....”
A shot? Was it Raleigh who’d been hit? She saw Dr. Walker hustle to the front of the throng, shading his eyes to peer at the road.
“There...he’s coming,” Nick muttered. “I see red on his shirt!”
Violet could see him now, too, and worse, the ominous crimson stain blooming on the left upper part of his shirt as Blue approached. Who had shot him?
Trembling, she jumped off Lady, throwing her reins to Nick. With all the riders still galloping in, she didn’t want to trust ground-tying as she went to join the others surrounding the sweaty, wild-eyed roan as they pulled the wounded man gently from his back.
“All right,” mumbled Raleigh as the doctor slit open his shirt with a bowie knife handed him by another man. “Just winged me...in th’ collar...b-bone,” he mumbled.
His face was pale, but it wasn’t the deathly pallor of shock, Violet thought as his dark eyes found her.
“Sorry...” he said. “Lost the ranch...”
“You have nothing to apologize for,” she told him fiercely. “Oh, Raleigh...”
/> “Could you tell where it came from?” Bishop asked, bent over the wounded man, but careful to stay out of the doctor’s way.
“Left side of the road...up in the rocks,” Raleigh said.
Was she merely hearing what she hoped to hear, or did his voice sound stronger now that he was lying down? Dear Lord, let him be all right!
Dr. Walker had turned Raleigh on his side with the help of the others. Violet couldn’t see what the physician was seeing, but she heard Walker say, “Raleigh, the bullet went on through. You should be fine, with a little luck. Glad I bought some carbolic with me....” He reached for a jar Sarah was already pulling out of a canvas bag. Funny, she hadn’t even noticed Sarah waiting there with him before, Violet thought absently.
“He’ll recover? You’re sure?” Violet demanded, leaning over so the doctor could hear her over the excited voices of the others.
Walker started at the sound of her voice, then looked up. “Yes, with a little help from the Lord, I believe so, Miss Violet,” he began.
“Raleigh, I’m going on!” she cried. “There’s still a chance!”
The others gaped at her, not comprehending, but she saw Raleigh blink before a look of comprehension came into his eyes. She saw him half raise his right hand, his thumb turned up.
“I love you, Vi. Go on!” he cried.
She yanked the reins from her astonished brother’s grasp and jumped back onto the mare, made sure her booted feet were firmly in the stirrups, then drummed her heels into the pinto’s flanks. “Hyaaa, Lady!” she screamed into the mare’s ear, and the mare took off like the proverbial bat from the nether regions.
All was lost, even if she could catch the front runners and pass them, if there was some rule about forbidding a change of riders, she thought as the mare sped over the dusty road. Then they’d be disqualified, and her effort would be for nothing. If there was such a rule, Raleigh hadn’t apparently known of it, either. But she couldn’t think about that now, couldn’t think of anything but catching the second-string horses whose telltale cloud of dust was barely visible in the distance.
She couldn’t spare a thought for what she’d do to Allbright, either, when she caught up to him. She knew he was behind the shot that had found Raleigh, but all thoughts of retribution had to be put aside for now. She had to concentrate on moving with Lady’s ground-eating stride, for it was certain they wouldn’t award Raleigh the ranch if Lady arrived riderless.
Lord, please help me, she prayed as she bent over the horse’s neck, feeling the wind whip her bonnet off her head. Bless this gallant mare, lend wings to Lady’s hooves and take care of Raleigh while we win this race for him.
Chapter Twenty
The rolling countryside was blurred as she and Lady galloped by it, but even so, Violet could see that the storm had struck more fiercely here than it had nearer to Simpson Creek. There were still puddles in low-lying areas to splash through, and fallen tree limbs were frequent in the wooded areas. Scrubby mesquites lay twisted like a pile of broken matchsticks. Had there been a tornado? Milly said twisters didn’t occur in hilly areas, but perhaps there’d been an exception?
She and Lady had passed a number of the horses that had left the changing point ahead of them, but she had yet to use the quirt attached to her wrist with a leather loop. The little mare had too much heart to need it. She clearly relished galloping by other horses. The steady four-beat rhythm of her hoofbeats formed a comforting background for Violet’s hopes and prayers.
Where was Allbright’s black horse? She’d caught no glimpse of them. Where was the finish line? She wasn’t sure how much of the race was left—they’d trained over this ground, but not as much as on the course between the edge of town and Five Mile Hill, and she’d been too busy catching up with other horses to pay attention to landmarks.
Then Lady rounded a bend, and there they were—Allbright and another contestant, the cowboy on a gray horse with a black mane and tail in front of a huge live oak that had fallen across the path. She and Raleigh had named this place “the Bottleneck” in their training gallops, for there were large boulder outcroppings on either side of the road, narrowing it. And now that she approached it, she knew where she was—only about a mile left before the Colorado River finish line.
She and Raleigh realized that the narrowness of the passageway would make it difficult or impossible to pass any horses here if they were clumped together, but with the lack of horses remaining in the field, it was no longer a problem—getting beyond the point with any speed was. The combination of the large trunk across the road and the rock formations on both ends meant a time-costing detour if the riders went around it, for there were thickets of scrubby mesquite and cactus at either end of the boulders.
Thank you, God, for the English saddle, she thought, smiling inwardly.
The rider on the gray horse had evidently tried leaping over it. The gray must have balked, throwing him, for he was now stiffly and awkwardly remounting. Allbright, though, had already started to detour around it, but he looked up, startled, as she and Lady approached.
It was the highest jump she and Lady had ever attempted, and she had not taken a jump with the mare since her confrontation with Raleigh. Could the mare do it? Violet knew Lady would gamely attempt it, but if she failed to clear it, they risked a broken neck for Violet, and a broken leg for the horse. Horse-lover that she was, Violet thought she’d prefer to be injured herself than to see Lady hurt.
She remembered the old groom who had first taught her to jump advising her to “throw your heart over first” when approaching a formidable obstacle, but now Violet added a quick inward prayer—Lord, please keep us safe, and give Lady added speed and endurance.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Allbright savagely reining his horse around and heard him curse at the black. Then they were facing her, and Allbright was waving his hands wildly, trying to startle the mare, just as Lady gathered herself to leap over the fallen tree trunk.
Lady’s off-hind hoof ticked the bark of the tree as she cleared it, but only that—just a touch, not enough to cause the horse and rider to lose their balance. Then Lady found her stride again, and they were galloping toward the finish with no one behind them.
But Allbright either forced his black to take the jump, or found his way along the side, for a minute later he and the black were pounding after Violet and Lady, rapidly closing the distance between them.
Violet spotted the river ahead of them, just a dull reddish-brown gleam through the trees that lined it. She knew the road took another bend, though, that brought its path closer still to the river’s serpentine course.
Allbright’s stallion was only a couple of lengths behind. She could hear the third horse behind them, too, but much farther back. That rider could count on no more than third place unless Allbright’s horse or hers faltered.
“Come on, Lady, come on, you can do it!” Violet called into her horse’s ear, and felt the gallant little mare lengthen her stride. Lady was running on heart and will alone, and for a moment Violet forgot the ranch prize, forgot even Raleigh, concentrating on nothing but the mare beneath her and the road ahead of them.
But Allbright was pulling alongside them. Violet saw a flash of black and realized Allbright had pulled out a whip—not a crop for using on his own horse, but a long-handled buggy whip. Even as she identified the object, its long lash came whistling at them. Clearly he didn’t care whether he hit horse or rider.
Violet shouted in outrage, even as Lady saw it, too, and swerved, running at an angle to get out of the whip’s range. But Allbright angled his mount, too, slashing at them, the whip making an evil, slicing sound. Couldn’t he see he was sacrificing effort that could have been better spent in encouraging his horse to run faster? But he apparently didn’t want to win without disabling his opponent.
“Stop it!” she yelled, knowing
it was useless. If Allbright heard her, he gave no sign. His face was contorted into an ugly mask of hatred. She tried to rein in Lady, fearing the whip would tangle around the mare’s legs and cause her to fall, but the mare must have thought it better to outrun the nasty thing than to go behind the black. Violet felt her seize the bit and surge ahead.
Allbright lashed out again, but with the pinto running flat out a half length ahead of his horse, Violet couldn’t see the lash descending, and the pinto’s squeal of pain came as a complete surprise. She’d beat the blackguard with his own whip, she vowed.
But the black had evidently tired of the sudden popping so near his head. When the recoil of the lash caused it to flick too near his right eye, the horse reared, screaming and pawing the air. Violet, looking over her shoulder in case Allbright wielded the whip, saw the stallion stand on his hind legs and Allbright lose his stirrups. He made a desperate grab for the horn, but with the horse thrashing and vertical, he couldn’t hold on. Violet saw Allbright slide off the back of his stallion as the mare thundered on.
Violet tried to slow the mare, to make sure Allbright hadn’t been kicked or trampled by his own horse, but Lady would have none of it, and kept running as if she would never stop.
They rounded the last bend, and there was the Colorado’s curving bank ahead of them, with a cluster of people standing in front of it, waving and calling. She could even pick out the rotund figure of the mayor, standing with his lady on a small raised platform, and the lemonade stand being run by the Spinsters’ Club.
Lady crossed the whitewashed finish line in the road to the accompaniment of cheers and gaping astonishment when the crowd saw that the winning horse was ridden by a woman.
She pulled Lady in, slipped her feet from the stirrups and slid gracefully off the pinto’s wet, heaving side. Someone—she thought she recognized one of the cowboys from Colliers’ Roost—took Lady’s reins and began walking the horse around, while the mayor lumbered off the platform to seize her arm. It was good that he did, for she felt like her bones had melted within her legs like wax from a candle.
Hill Country Cattleman Page 21