The Preacher of Cedar Mountain: A Tale of the Open Country
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CHAPTER XXVI
Preparing For the Day
They were a merry lot that galloped back to Fort Ryan that morning, anda still merrier crowd that gathered at Cedar Mountain, when it waswhispered about that in a fair and square try-out the buckskin cayusewas badly beaten by Red Rover. The white men had a dead sure thing. "Nowis the time, boys, most anything you like, raise money anyhow, you can'tgo wrong on this. We've got the wily Red men skinned. Now we'll get ourmoney back and more." "Of course it's fair, anything's fair to get aheadon a horse race." And as the tale was whispered round, it grew until itwould seem that Red Rover had cantered in, while the buckskin strainedhimself to keep within a couple of hundred yards of the racer.
So the gossip went and one serious thing resulted: the trainingslackened. Why bother when the horse was going to have a walk-over? TheColonel was too much engrossed with other matters to do more than givegood advice. The trainer's laxity pervaded those about him, and RedRover was let down with all the rest. When they ran out of baled timothythe shortage was not revealed till it occurred. This meant a week'sdelay. The trainer, going to Cedar Mountain on a celebration, left anunderling in charge who knew no better than to stuff the horse withalfalfa for a change, and a slight cold was the result. What the Colonelsaid when he heard of it was not couched in departmental phraseology.
Gambling has always been a racial sin of the Indian. He did not drink orhorse-race or torture pioneers till the white man taught him; but gamblehe always did. And under the stimulus of great excitement and new stakesthe habit became a craze. Within a few days, Red Cloud appeared at theFort with a great retinue, a whole village complete when they camped,and announced that he and his people had some fifty thousand dollars insight to stake on the race; which, of course, was to be a scratch racefor both. The soldiers, being very human, raised all they could--andmuch that they couldn't, really--to cover this handsome sum. Red Cloudthen returned to his camp.
The next day he was back to say that, in case the whites had no moremoney to bet, the Indians were willing to bet horses and saddles, goods,etc., and thereupon a new craze possessed them. A government plough waswagered against a settler's looking-glass, a hen and her chickensagainst a buffalo robe, and many another odd combination. The Indiansseemed to go wild on the issue. At last the U. S. Indian Agent came tothe Colonel to protest.
"Colonel, I can manage these people all right if they are let alone, butthis horse race and the betting are upsetting everything. I suppose youhave a dead sure thing or you wouldn't be so reckless, but you aremaking awful trouble for every one else, and I wish you'd put on thebrakes."
The Colonel either could not, or would not; for the excitement grew asthe day came near. As a last effort the Indian agent, one of the few whowere conscientiously doing their best for the Indians, went to Red Cloudto protest and warn him that the whites were laying a trap for him andhis people and would clean them out of everything.
Red Cloud's eyes twinkled as he said: "Yes, they always do."
"I mean on the horse race; they will skin you; don't you know they'vehad your horse out in a trial race with theirs, and that it's no race atall?"
Again the Chief's eyes lighted up. He gave a little grunt and said."Mebbe so."
Hartigan suffered all the agonies of crucified instincts in thisexcitement. He longed to be in everything, to bet and forecast and playthe game with them all. What would he not have given to be the selectedjockey, to smell the hot saddle every day, to hear the sweet squeak ofthe leather or feel the mighty shoulder play of the noble racing beastbeneath him. But such things were not for him. He was shut in, as nevermonk was held, from earthly joy; not by material bars and walls, but byhis duty to the Church, by his word as a man, by the influence of Belle.
She trembled in her thought for him at times, his racing blood was sostrong. She often rode by his side to Fort Ryan and watched him as helooked on at the training of the Rover. His every remark was a commentof the connoisseur. "Look at that, look at that, Belle. That's right, hestopped to change his feet. He's a jockey all right. He ought not to dothat tap-tapping with the quirt--the horse doesn't understand it, itworries him. I don't like to see a man knee-pinch a horse in that way;it tells on a two-mile run. He's heavy-handed on the reins; some horsesneed it, but not that one," and so on without pause.
Never once did his conversation turn on the Church or its work; andBelle was puzzled and uneasy. Then, one day when she and Hartigan wereto have ridden out, he sent a note to say that he was in trouble.Blazing Star was hurt. Belle went at once to the stable and there shefound the Preacher on his knees, in an armless old undershirt, rubbinglinament on to some slight bump on Blazing Star's nigh hock. A sculptorwould have paused to gaze at the great splendid arms--clean and whiteand muscled like Theseus--massive, supple, and quick. Hartigan was veryserious.
"I don't know just what it is, Belle; it looks like a puff, but it maybe only a sting or a bot. Anyway, I'm afraid it's rest for a week itmeans," and he rubbed and rubbed the embrocation in with force, whileBlazing Star looked back with liquid eyes.
This seemed like a misfortune, but it proved a blessing, for it keptHartigan out of the racing crowd for a week at a time when he wasskating on ice that was very, very thin.
As Saturday came, the Rev. Dr. Jebb received an unexpected call from avery regular caller--the Rev. James Hartigan--to ask if Dr. Jebb wouldkindly take both sermons on Sunday next. Blazing Star had a puff on hisnigh hock, inside, a little above the leg-wart; it might not amount tomuch, but it required a good deal of attention every few hours, both dayand night, to prevent the possibility of its becoming serious fromneglect.