“What would be scandalous is denyin’ a superb rider and horse entry into the match,” Bear shouted.
“Without a rule specifically banning a woman rider, you cannot deny her entry into the race,” Sam said firmly.
During the last few minutes, curious spectators, including William, Kelly, and Stephen, gathered around them.
“Let her race!” one man called.
A rather bawdy looking woman called out in a sultry voice, “A talented woman can ride man or horse equally well!”
After the laughter died down, another one shouted, “Give her a chance!”
“The lovely lady will at least make the race delightful to watch,” another said.
Bear shot that man a look of warning, then turned back to Thornbird. “Will ye let my wife ride?” Bear demanded.
Thornbird appeared apprehensive but stood his ground and shook his balding head. “No. She could be injured or killed. After all, she’s just a woman!” He thrust his pointed chin out in defiance.
“Enough of yer ignorant mouth, ye idjit!” Artis swore. She hauled her right fist back and with a lightning fast motion slammed it into the man’s jaw.
Thornbird’s head whipped back and he staggered a bit, but he remained standing.
After Sam got over his own shock, he glanced around. The disbelief on everyone’s faces lasted for only a moment before every last one of them erupted in laughter, especially Bear and William.
When they all settled down again, dozens shouted at Thornbird demanding that he let her race.
With a long sigh and rubbing his chin, Thornbird begrudgingly relented. He looked at Bear, not Artis, and warned, “All right, but when she falls, her death will be on your hands, not mine.”
Bear moved closer to Thornbird, thrust his head forward, and through clenched teeth swore, “She’s na goin’ to fall.”
Thornbird quickly looked away and turned to Artis. “Be mounted and ready on the race grounds by ten in the morning,” he said. “What’s your horse’s name?”
“Glasgow,” she said squaring her shoulders. “He’s a handsome tall black with a small star between his eyes.”
“To Glasgow!” several men toasted as they turned back to their seats.
“I can’t believe this is happening,” Thornbird groaned.
“I thank ye,” Artis said, satisfaction showing in her eyes. “And I would advise ye to never refer to a woman as ‘just’ in the future.”
Chapter 36
Harrodsburg, Twelfth Day Celebration, 5 January 1800
That next morning the entire population of the town, men, women and children, all prepared to leave soon for the scene of the great riding match. The race would take place on a picturesque spot of prairie about a quarter mile west of the fort.
Sam decided he would wait until after the race to see Dixon at the jail. He didn’t want to spoil the festive morning. There would be time enough to question Dixon later.
As they all set off for the large livery, the sounds of horses’ hooves and wagon wheels prodding through the snow and the dampness of the morning filled the air. Sam looked to the sky, hoping rain or snow would hold off until after the race was over. Both would make the race far more hazardous.
And it was already dangerous enough. Thankfully, Artis rode a standard saddle. Bear said she always did, because she thought sidesaddles were for women who were more interested in being lady-like rather than really riding. Sam had to agree. A good rider became a part of the horse, largely by feeling a steed’s movements in his or her legs.
Sam watched gaily dressed women and men strut all around the town. Mounted militia, dressed much like him in buckskin hunting shirts, leggings, and hats, carried pistols and long knives stuck in their belts. Other men galloped hither and yon trying to avoid the crowd or prepared themselves for the exciting contest by visiting the town’s taverns.
For the race, Artis wore a fresh green and gold-trimmed riding habit that Catherine had given her. On her jacket’s lapel, she had pinned her Luckenbooth brooch, a gift from Bear when he asked her to marry him. The gems in the traditional Scottish symbol of love and loyalty, sparkled in the sun that finally decided to show itself. Sam suspected the gold gloves she wore covered the sore knuckles she must have from slugging Thornbird. Her long hair, clasped at the back of her neck with a sturdy silver clip, hung down her back. She appeared confident, but Sam wondered if she was also anxious because she kept chewing on her lower lip.
Stephen wore a dark blue jacket with pewter buttons and wisely chose a black shirt and black breeches. Only his cravat was white. The shirt and pants would likely be filthy by the time the race was over. His youngest brother appeared as confident as Artis, his face reflecting his steadfast determination to win.
“Kentuckians love horse racing,” William explained to Artis and Kelly as they made their way toward the livery. “Matches are raucous, rowdy, and centered on wagering on favorite riders.”
“What do they wager?” Kelly asked.
“Money, tobacco, property,” he answered. “Some even wager slaves.”
“That’s horrible!” Artis said. “Gambling people’s lives is barbaric.”
“I agree,” Sam said. “The practice should be outlawed. Along with slavery and forced indenture.”
“’Tis one thing to indenture willingly to repay a debt or receive freedom dues, and another to be forced,” Artis said. “But both deprive a person of years of their life.”
Her voice sounded distant and Sam regretted bringing up the subject.
“I’ve heard some men are wagering a fortune,” William said, bringing them all back to a lighter subject.
“Is anyone wagerin’ coin on me?” Artis asked. She almost sounded hopeful.
“I am,” Bear said proudly. “But I will na say how much.”
“I’m not saying either,” William said. “Perhaps I’ll wager on both Artis and Stephen. Just to avoid favoritism mind you.”
“Place a healthy bet for me on Artis,” Kelly told William. “No offense, Stephen, but I have to support another woman.”
That didn’t surprise Sam. Kelly and Artis were as close as sisters.
“You’d all be better off not betting anything,” Stephen said. “Gambling is a fool’s game and yields a fool’s reward.”
Despite Stephen’s protests, William and Bear stopped at a betting table. Sam and a grumbling Stephen waited nearby with Artis and Kelly.
“How about ye, Sam?” Bear asked while standing in line to place his wager. “Are ye na goin’ to place a wager?”
“No, I’m inclined to agree with Stephen. I’ll save what I would have wagered and use it to buy a celebratory meal for all of us after the race.”
“Ye think one of them is goin’ to win then?” Bear asked.
“I do,” he answered. “I’ve seen Stephen’s stallion run full out, and it was indeed impressive. And I know what kind of sire, George had and if he’s anything like the first George, Stephen will be hard to beat. That horse had heart.”
“He was smart too,” William said. “And courageous.”
Stephen dropped his lashes quickly to hide his hurt. His brother still grieved for his favorite horse. Perhaps if this George could win the race, it would ease some of Stephen’s sorrow.
Sam turned to Artis. “I haven’t seen Glasgow run yet, but I’m looking forward to seeing what he can do. Based on his conformation and what Bear tells me of your skill as a rider, I’d say you and Glasgow stand a good chance of winning too.”
Next to the livery, under a sprawling oak tree, they passed the town’s smithy. Like most blacksmiths, he was a powerful man with large hands and thick brawny arms. His brow already dripped with sweat despite the chilly temperature. Besides the staff at the busy taverns and inns, the smithy appeared to be the only one in town working this morning.
As they passed, the smithy looked Sam in the eye and nodded politely before he swung his sledge hammer and they heard the clang of a mighty blow.
“Good morning!” William called out brightly to the smithy.
The burly man waved back and went on with his work.
As they entered the enormous livery, Sam inhaled the barn’s familiar scent—the grassy smell of fresh horse droppings, old seasoned wood, salt on the horses’ coats, leather, hay, and oats—all combined to create an earthy smell Sam loved.
Excitement filled the livery as the six of them grabbed their saddles and tack. Each saddle hung on a rack in front of the stall door of their mounts. Within a few minutes, they finished and each held the reins of their horses.
Before Artis mounted, William insisted on checking her saddle leathers. “You never know what some small-minded person might do to keep a woman from racing,” he said. After a moment, he told them, “Sure enough, someone’s cut the girth strap half-way through.”
Sam and the others took a close look. The cut was smooth, as though someone used a knife to slash it. It was cut just enough to cause it to split under the stress of a race.
“Bloody hell!” Bear swore. “She could have taken a terrible tumble. Maybe even broke her neck or been trampled.” He looked like he wanted to trample someone himself.
Angry too, Sam would have helped him if they’d known who ought to be trampled.
“That’s what makes you a good sheriff,” Stephen said, double checking his leathers. “You’re always a step ahead of criminals.”
The rest of them carefully examined their own leathers as well, and William double-checked Kelly’s saddle, but only Artis’ had been tampered with.
It took another few minutes to obtain a new girth strap from the apologetic livery owner. “I have no idea why someone would do such a terrible thing. Or when they did it!” he said, when William questioned the man. “They must be worried that Mrs. MacKay is going to win. And I hope you do! I wish you the best of luck,” he told her. “That’s some horse. I’m going to go place a wager on you right now!” With that he strode off toward the betting table.
By the time they made their way to the race grounds, and paid their entry fees, the crowd there was already swarming. The eager spectators were arriving early to secure a good spot to view the race.
Sam saw several horses and riders form up in a line, waiting to ride their mounts to the starting point. He studied the other horses in the race and realized Stephen and Artis would have some tough competition. For the most part, the mounts all appeared to be bred for strength and fleetness—the prime requisites for a fine thoroughbred.
There were also a few other horses who, in his opinion, didn’t stand a chance or belong in the race. Their legs were too short and their muscles undefined. A rider of one of those horses seemed to be intoxicated. He must have spent the morning getting tanked-up to bolster his courage.
“What a bloody fool,” Stephen said disapprovingly. “Hope the judges take him out of the race. He could cause one of these fine horses to stumble or fall.”
Sam agreed, but he was more concerned about Artis. Like Stephen’s horse, her stallion was a big, bright black, sixteen hands high, and very strongly made. He had a small head, broad forehead with a white star in the center, delicate ears, and a black mane and tail. His big eyes were intelligent and held a sheen of purpose. Hopefully, the big fellow would keep her safe.
Artis looked stunning sitting atop such a magnificent animal. She leaned down and stroked Glasgow’s neck. Her horse appeared calm, as though he understood exactly what he was about to do.
George, however, was acting a little high-headed. The stallion wasn’t used to all the noise and crowds. And he’d only been raced a dozen times or so over the last week at Sam’s place, and then only against three different horses. He won easily every time. They decided, however, not to race him against Glasgow, concerned that the stallion might feel beaten down or be demoralized if he didn’t win. George needed to feel like he was the dominant horse.
When George pinned his ears back, a sign of uneasiness, Stephen quickly dismounted and spoke softly to him. In a soothing voice, he said, “You’re a good fellow. The best horse here. Let’s show them what you’re made of.” At once, George seemed to calm and after Stephen stroked his long neck a few more times, his brother remounted and took the stallion off a little ways. Then Stephen loped him slowly in a tight circle several times. Artis did the same, following behind Stephen. They reversed direction and George followed Glasgow. Then they switched direction again. As soon as the horses were warmed up, they proceeded toward the line of waiting race horses. Sam, Bear, William, and Kelly followed slightly behind them.
When Artis and Glasgow made an appearance, the crowd began to react. Word of a woman riding in the race must have flared across the town like summer lightning. Some men were up in arms that a woman would be riding.
One heckler yelled, “'Go back to the kitchen and cook dinner.”
Another booed her as she rode by.
“Easy Bear,” Sam cautioned, as Bear started to react. “Ignore him.”
Bear snarled at the man, but continued on with them.
“Don’t worry,” Stephen told Artis. “You’ll show them.”
There were a few other hecklers, but the vast majority of the spectators, especially the women, cheered her on as she made her way toward the line of other riders.
After a father pointed Artis out to his two daughters, the little girls clapped their hands and called out. “Win the race Glasgow!”
When they reached the spot where Artis and Stephen would join the other racers, Bear told her, “Good luck, my angel. And may Glasgow give ye the wings ye lack.”
“God’s speed to both of you,” Sam said.
“Thank you,” Stephen said and then he handed Sam his wool coat. “Hold this for me, will you? I don’t want to get it dirty.”
“I’ll stay clean, because Glasgow will be out in front,” Artis quipped.
They all chuckled. A flash of humor even crossed Stephen’s face.
Artis motioned Bear over to her and handed him her Luckenbooth brooch and silver hair clasp. “Guard these for me, husband. I wouldn’t want them to fall off during the race.” She gave him a kiss and then straightened her back and shook her head, letting her long locks fall across her shoulders.
“Both of you, win hands down!” William told them.
“We’re proud of you both,” Kelly said.
Artis smiled broadly at Bear and then at the rest of their family, even Stephen. Sam knew she was living a dream and based on her sparkling eyes, she was filled with excitement and expectation.
Stephen appeared more resolute than excited. Sam could see his brother’s strong will in the firm set of his jaw and his eyes gleamed with single-minded determination. When Stephen set his mind on something there was no stopping him.
Soon snare drums beat and trumpets blared to signal that the race would begin in fifteen minutes. Artis and Stephen turned their horses toward the other racers and took their places in line.
The one-mile race would be run on a straight course marked at the end by upright stakes, where the race judges waited. Men also stood at the starting line with brightly colored flags, ready to signal the match’s start. The judges at the starting line, thankfully, did take the drunk rider out of the race as well as another horse that appeared to have gone lame. That left thirteen horses in the race.
“I think Bear and I should ride down to where the judges are standing,” Sam said. “I want to be sure this race is judged fairly.”
“Kelly and I will find a spot at about the half-mile mark,” William said. “That way one of us will be able to see the whole race.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Sam said. “Meet us at the finish line when it’s all over.”
The four of them galloped to the half-mile mark and he and Bear continued on to the end. Sam caught the eye of Thornbird and nodded at him. He wanted the man to realize he and Bear were there.
Thornbird rolled his eyes and turned his back on Sam.
Sitting atop his horse,
Sam had a perfect view of the finish line. Although the view was unobstructed and his eyesight keen, he struggled to pick out Artis and Stephen from among the racers. Perhaps he’d been able to see them better when their horses pulled ahead.
After some preliminaries involving the local elected officials, the space selected for the riding was cleared of all noncontestants. The riders and horses lined up to start. A judge told them that at the sound of the fife, he would signal the start.
Artis’ heart began racing before she did. Her mouth went dry and she was suddenly breathless. She could feel Glasgow tense beneath her, ready to run.
The high shrill sound of a fife rang out and the judge waved a green flag downward.
They were off.
Her heart continued to hammer within her chest as Glasgow’s long legs shot forward. Only a few seconds later she pulled about half a length ahead of the other horses. Girding herself with determination, she ignored the other riders and kept her eyes on the finish line. It seemed a long way off.
But she would not falter.
She would not fail.
She would not fall.
She made sure her heels were pushed down, feeling the stretch in her calves and the pressure on her feet. She let her hips match the waves of the horse’s motion, helping them move as one. Her sense of the horse’s mind and movements heightened. Yet the world beyond Glasgow, and the other horses just behind her, blurred and appeared dreamlike.
Positioned in about the middle of the group of racers, the thunderous sound of the pummeling horses’ hooves roared in her ears. The deafening sound obscured the cheers of the boisterous onlookers. At the starting line, she had recognized two well-known Virginia stallions in the race—Messenger and Diamond—and they both threatened her position. She leaned forward on Glasgow, her arms moving in the same pattern as the beat of his legs, helping him to run smoothly.
She flew over the pasture at a blazing clip, feeling exhilarated and free. As she tore through the air, wind rasped against her cheeks, the cold stung her eyes, and the jarring lunges whacked every muscle and battered every bone in her body. Over and over.
Frontier Gift of Love (American Wilderness Series Romance Book 5) Page 27