CHAPTER XXXVII
The Boom
With the definite assurance of Blazing Star being entered, every man inFort Ryan focussed his thoughts on how he might best turn the race toaccount, wipe out the damage of the last defeat, and recoup his losswith a double profit. They were very sorry for themselves, most of theselosers; especially sorry that they, who could really enjoy money and whohad actual need of so much, should lose their all to a lot of Indianswho neither sought nor cared for cash and whose only pleasure in therace was the gambling spirit, the excitement of the game. This time thewhites were going to leave no stone unturned to make a "killing." Everyplan was discussed, and there were not lacking those who called Shivesby ugly names--behind his back--for not seizing on the chance, when itwas so easily in his hands, to put the Indian racer under shadow of asure defeat. But they made no such speeches when the Colonel was inhearing.
Yet, after all, what did it matter? They had the ace in their hands now.There was no horse on the plains could run with Blazing Star; and,training with him, in the best of care, was the Red Rover, only a littleless swift than the Star, now that careful methods had brought him hisfull-grown strength and speed. Microscopic studies were made of everyfact that seemed to furnish a gauge of the horses' powers, and this wasclear: Blazing Star was easily first; Red Rover would make a goodsecond; and the buckskin cayuse could not possibly do so well as the RedRover under the new training and lighter leather gear. Of course, thehorse was not to be named until the day and hour of the race, but it wasquite certain that the Indians would enter the Buckskin. Vague reportsthere were of a wonderful pinto that the Red men had somewhere intraining; but the Crow spies could furnish no corroboration of thereport; and, in any case, the shoeing of the Buckskin was a guaranteethat the Indians meant to enter him.
From all of which there was but one logical conclusion. So the messagewent forth through the length and breadth of Dakota, "Come on, we've gota dead-sure thing. Come on, and bring all you can raise or borrow." Itis wonderful, the faith of the racetrack gamblers in a tip! Their beliefin the "hunch" is blind and absolute; hope never dies on the racetrack,even though, once in a while, it goes into a very deathlike swoon.
Not merely Dakota responded to the chances of the coming race, butWyoming, Minnesota, Iowa, Nebraska, yes, even Illinois. And CedarMountain post office began to have hopes of stepping up to a higherround on the official scale, as the mail matter, registered and special,poured in. Letters postmarked "Deadwood" came by the score; others fromMinneapolis and St. Paul were abundant; while, of course, there was theusual grist from Custer City, Bismarck, Pierre, Sidney, Cheyenne, andDenver. John and Hannah Higginbotham could not, owing to John's positionas Church deacon, take an active part in the gambling; but they inventeda scheme of insurance on a 50 per cent. premium basis which was withinthe Church law, though, when translated into terms of the track, it wasmerely a two-to-one bet on the field.
The autumn race had played havoc with so many savings funds and so muchactual cash in business that a great number of those badly hit had vowedthat they would never again go in; and they clung to their new resolvethrough May and most of June. But, as the training went on and the talkwent around, and other men went in--all the wise ones, horse-wise,talk-wise, and otherwise--the subtle fascination grew and, a monthbefore the race, the same old madness glamoured every mind; the same oldguiding star--so often proved a spook-fire, but this time surely astar--was leading, hypnotizing, shining just ahead. The racing men onceobsessed, the world of half-way interest followed even faster, till nearthe end of June, except for a few immune from principle or poverty, thewhole community of South and West Dakota had but one talk--the race, andwhat they risked or hoped to make on it.
One must remember that the West has always been the land of boom. It isfilled with the energetic and enterprising who, by a natural process,are selected from the peoples of the East; and the stuff such booms feedon, grow on, and grow mighty on as they feed, is Hope. Every Westernerknows that the land is full of possibility, opportunity--free, equalopportunity multiplied; and he hopes that his name will be the next onecalled by fortune. To respond to the call at whatever cost--to be readyto respond--that is the condition of life worth while. A dozen baddefeats are passing trifles if the glad call only comes and one fail notto rise to it. So it is ever easy in a land of such undaunted souls tostart a boom. Hope never dies in the West.
Reader, I have ridden the Plains and seen many a settler living with hisfamily in one small, dirty room, constructed out of sods with a blackdirt roof, and dirt and dust on everything, on every side. I have seenthem with little food, pinched and sick and struggling with poverty andfamine. I have seen them in every dreadful circumstance of want andwasting pain that could be named in the sum of horrors of the vilestEastern slum: and yet they made no bid for sympathy or help, or for amoment lost their pride; for one great fundamental difference there wasbetween them and the slummers of the East: the prairie pioneer is_filled with hope_! Hope gleams in his eye; he lives in a land of hope;he was lured to the West by the blazing star of bright new Hope; just ona little way it shines for him; and every sod upturned and everyposthole sunk, or seed put in, is turned or sunk or sown in the light ofstrong, unfading hope. Just a little while, a few short months, maybe,and he believes, he _knows_ his name will be the next one called.
O land of hope, land of the shining four-rayed star, long, long may youremain the world's great vale of youth, where none grow old at heart orpray for death, for none can ever wholly lose their glimpse of thatbeckoning hope. The fountain of eternal youth springs up and gushes'neath no other light.
O star of Hope! O blessed Lodestar of the soul! Long, long, yes, ageslong may you be there, swung in the sky for all the world to see andknow that while they live and _will_, there gleams a God-lit beacon inthe West, the light of the land of hope.
The Preacher of Cedar Mountain: A Tale of the Open Country Page 38