Kitabı oku: «Fast as the Wind: A Novel», sayfa 9

CHAPTER XXIV
"BY JOVE, SHE'S WONDERFUL"

THE horses were saddled, the jockeys mounting, everything in readiness to go out for the parade.

Picton was talking anxiously to his trainer and Erickson, last instructions were given, Fred was told to make the most of Tearaway in every part of the race, use her staying powers, and in the last furlong her wonderful sprinting qualities to the utmost.

"You feel better now?" asked Picton.

"Yes, much better," said Fred; but he was anything but strong.

A great cheer broke out from the stands and course.

"That's the favorite," said Picton, smiling.

"Tearaway will make a hack of him before the winning post is reached," said Fred.

"You are the last out. Good luck to you, Fred," said Picton as he rode off. "Well, Brant, what do you think of it?"

"What I have always thought, that she will win."

"But about Fred?"

"He'll be all right; he would not have ridden had he not been confident of himself," said the trainer.

It was a beautiful sight, the fifteen horses, parading in the soft September light, the colors of the riders flashing, the thoroughbreds eager for the fray, well knowing what was about to be required of them. There was a dense crowd on the moor, a real Yorkshire crowd, all horse lovers, enthusiasts, judges; on no racecourse in the world is there a more sport-loving crowd than Doncaster on St. Leger day.

The stands were packed, so were the rings; bustle and excitement on all sides; the only clear space was the course, a bright green grass track, winding in and out amidst a black surging mass of people. Brack surveyed the scene with wondering eyes. It was all new to him, although he had been on the moor, and seen the great race before, he had never witnessed it from the stand side; the contrast was remarkable. It was also many years since he had been on a racecourse.

He was not excited, he viewed the scene calmly; it was not in his nature to bubble over with enthusiasm. As the horses galloped past, and went to the post, he was thinking about Lenise Elroy, what she had said to him at Torquay, and how she had spoken to Carl Hackler. He wondered if danger threatened Hector Woodridge; he must try and have a word or two with him before he left the course.

Mrs. Elroy watched the purple and white sleeves worn by Banks, the rider of Ripon, the favorite. She wanted him to win. She had, at Rupert Hansom's suggestion, put a hundred pounds on him. Rupert Hansom was the owner of Ripon, a rich man, not particularly popular, living apart from his wife, who had obtained a separation from him on account of his conduct with a well-known opera singer. He admired Mrs. Elroy, would have liked to be intimate with her, but she did not care for him in that way, he was merely a casual acquaintance. Her eyes rested on the saffron jacket and red cap of Picton Woodridge.

"What pretty colors!" she exclaimed.

"Mine?" Hansom asked.

"No; they are very nice. I was looking at that peculiar yellow jacket and red cap."

"They're Woodridge's colors – saffron, red cap. I don't think Tearaway has much chance, although I hear they have backed her for a large sum," he said.

So that was Tearaway! What a splendid black mare, and how well the colors of the racing jacket contrasted with her dark shining coat.

There was not much time for reflection; in a few minutes they were sent on their journey, getting off in an almost unbroken line, a splendid start.

Round the bend they swept, a moving mass of brilliant colors. The Major held the lead, stretched out to his full extent, half a dozen lengths in front; he was followed by Dark Donald, Bronze, Harriet, Ripon, The Monk, Field Gun, and Tearaway, the remainder well up.

The Major traveled at a great pace; it was to be a fast run race. He was a very fair horse, although not quite equal to staying the St. Leger course; as a matter of fact, he was out on a pace-making mission for Bronze. At the back of the course The Major still led, the others were creeping up. Harriet was now in second place, Ripon, and Bronze, racing together, Tearaway close behind them, level with The Monk.

The race became more interesting. All the well backed horses shaped well, and their numerous backers watched every move with interest.

Picton worked his way through the crowd and entered his box just before the start. Rita was all excitement; she said Torquay races were very tame after this.

"I don't suppose I shall ever have a chance of riding four winners in two days here, or of winning a double," said Picton.

Hector caught sight of Mrs. Elroy's glance and smiled; she was not far away.

Sir Robert was fidgety. He had done what he considered a rather risky thing, backed Tearaway for several hundreds, standing to win a large sum. He considered it risky because he still doubted if the trial on Haverton Moor was quite correct; it seemed too good to be true that Tearaway had beaten Tristram at only seven pounds difference. He had on the spur of the moment said that Picton had the St. Leger in his pocket, but that was merely a figure of speech, the result of over-enthusiasm. He was now watching the race with keen interest, and thought Tearaway too far back.

"Erickson's not making sufficient use of her," he said.

"He'll get through presently," said Picton. "I think The Major made the pace rather hot for the first six furlongs."

"Perhaps that's it," said Sir Robert. "I hope he'll ride it out, I wish that queer sort of faintness had not come over him."

They were entering the straight, when rounding the bend a good deal of bumping took place.

The cause of it was the sudden collapse of The Major, who almost stopped dead, and narrowly escaped knocking Bronze down. Bronze in turn collided with Harriet, and the pair interfered with Ripon, and The Monk, who had come with a fast run, Tearaway was in the center of the course and steered clear of the lot.

Fred Erickson pulled her wide on the outside to avoid any possibility of a collision because he did not feel equal to it. When he saw the interference at the bend he was glad; it was the best thing he could have done.

The consequences of the colliding were not serious; no one was to blame. Fairly in the straight, Harriet took command, followed by Bronze, Ripon, The Monk, and Dark Donald, with Tearaway in the middle of the course.

The race grew more and more exciting. Up to this point the winner could not be picked, half a dozen horses had excellent chances.

"My fellow will win," said Rupert Hansom to Mrs. Elroy.

"I hope so," she answered; but her glance was on the saffron jacket, and the black mare. They looked dangerous.

"He's going well," said Sir Robert.

"Which is going well?" asked his wife.

"The favorite, confound him," he snapped.

Brack had a very good view of the horses as they came up the straight. He saw the bright jacket of Tearaway's jockey in the center of the course and to him it appeared the race was little short of a certainty for her. He was not much of a judge, but he loved racing, and when he saw the black mare, out alone, catching the leaders, he shouted for joy. Some one told him to make less noise; it had no effect on him, he still continued to talk to himself, and give vent to an occasional cheer.

Fred Erickson rode a great race. Tearaway was going splendidly; he felt a glow of pride in her, was glad he had such a mount, for he had not yet won a St. Leger, it had long been his ambition to do so.

Halfway down the straight something seemed to stab him in the chest; his head swam, for a moment he reeled in the saddle, the reins loosened in his hands, Tearaway slackened speed. Half dazed, by sheer force of will he controlled himself. His eyes were dim, he saw the horses in a mist, they hardly appeared real. He took hold of Tearaway and urged her forward, the gallant mare responded, her astonishing speed began to tell.

Blackett saw Fred almost swoon – he had exceptionally powerful glasses – and wondered he did not fall off.

"It's all up," he muttered; then, as he looked again, he saw Tearaway coming along as fast as the wind. The black filly stood out by herself, the saffron jacket alone in the center of the course. On the rails Ripon and Harriet were racing hard, with Bronze drawing up; the trio appeared to have the race among them. Already there were shouts for the favorite, and Rupert Hansom said to Mrs. Elroy: "I told you he would win."

She had seen many races, and did not think Ripon would win. She feared the black filly, who was going so fast, catching the leaders. She wondered Hansom did not see it too.

In Picton's box it was all excitement. Fred Erickson was seen to swerve in the saddle, then recover, and send Tearaway along at a terrific pace.

"Well done, bravely done, Fred!" exclaimed Sir Robert.

"Splendid!" said Rita.

"She'll win!" said Picton as he watched her, the perspiration standing in beads on his forehead.

"I think she's a chance," said Hector; "but Ripon is forging ahead, and Bronze is not done with."

"Look at her now!" said Picton.

"By jove, she's wonderful!" said Sir Robert.

CHAPTER XXV
FAST AS THE WIND

A ST. LEGER long to be remembered. Three horses abreast fighting a terrific battle a furlong from the winning post; in the center of the course a coal black mare, coming with a beautiful even stride, at a pace men marveled at. Old hands who had seen Hannah, Marie Stuart, and Apology win, later Dutch Oven, and La Flèche, Throstle, and the peerless Scepter, were astounded at Tearaway's speed.

On came Picton Woodridge's black filly, the saffron jacket showing boldly, Fred Erickson sitting motionless in the saddle. How still he sat! No one knew he dared not move; had he done so he felt he must fall off. With desperate efforts he retained his seat; he alone knew what a great performance Tearaway was putting in, that she was carrying more than a dead weight, that if anything he hampered instead of assisting her.

Ripon got his head in front of Harriet and Bronze, and the shouting was deafening.

"Ripon wins!" yelled Rupert Hansom.

Mrs. Elroy was looking at Tearaway. The black mare was gaining fast, she would get up and win, she had no doubt about it. She was mortified because William Rolfe had not told her the real strength of the mare and her trial. He ought to have done so; they were friends. What was his reason? Was he jealous of her being with Rupert Hansom? Perhaps he was, and thought she would tell him about the mare. If this were so, she did not mind losing her hundred. He had promised to meet her at the station and journey to town with her; much might happen between Doncaster and London – possibly he might propose. She intended to urge him on in every possible way, and she possessed remarkable powers of fascinating men and was aware of it. These thoughts were mixed up in her mind as she watched the saffron jacket. The great mass of people on the rails, and standing on forms behind, at last saw that Tearaway was dangerous. Ripon held the lead, Bronze next, Harriet and Tearaway level. The noise was terrific, the thousands of people surged to and fro, hundreds of them could just see the red cap bobbing up in the center of the course.

Tearaway settled Harriet's pretensions, and caught Bronze. Fletcher Denyer turned pale with rage; he recognized that Rolfe had not given him the strength of Tearaway. It was a shame, after the excellent mining tips he had given him.

Bronze was beaten. He had lost a large sum, more than he cared to pay; when he had settled on Monday there would be very little ready money left, and he must settle or his reputation, such as it was, would be gone. Rolfe evidently knew all about Tearaway; there was no doubt he backed the mare to win many thousands of pounds. The commission agent he worked for said Tearaway was one of the worst in his book, and the bulk of the money had gone to William Rolfe. Denyer introduced Rolfe to the man, who would not thank him for this client whose first wagers were on a winner at thirty-three to one.

Tearaway passed Bronze and drew level with Ripon. Rupert Hansom was quiet now, watching the struggle on which so much depended. His hopes of winning were of short duration. Tearaway wrested the lead from him, passed him, forged ahead, Erickson sitting perfectly still, and won by a couple of lengths, with the greatest ease. The way the flying filly left the favorite was wonderful. Ripon might have been standing still. Banks, his rider, when he realized the situation was amazed. Ripon was a good horse; what, then, must this filly be?

No matter what wins the St. Leger, there are rousing cheers for the victor. It was so in this case. They were given with more heartiness because she was a Yorkshire-bred mare, owned by a popular Yorkshire squire; there was a real county flavor about it, and the men of the wolds rejoiced exceedingly. Some of them lost money on Ripon, but that was a small matter compared with the defeat of the Newmarket champion by a home-bred 'un; patriotism first is always the case with a Doncaster crowd.

"Picton, my boy, I congratulate you," said Sir Robert, wringing his hand. "By gad, I wish the Admiral could have seen this!"

Hector heard the words and turned round quickly; they cut deep into a not-yet-healed wound.

Picton looked hastily at his brother and guessed what that sudden movement meant.

"Thank you, Sir Robert," he said. "It is a great victory. I also wish my father could have seen it," he added in a low voice.

Rita's congratulations came next.

"I am so glad," she said, "so very glad; you own the best mare in England."

"Go down and lead her in, don't waste time here," said Sir Robert; and Picton went.

Hector followed him, glad to get out of the box. "I wish the Admiral could have seen it." Sir Robert's words rang in his ears.

He caught sight of Mrs. Elroy in a box and vowed he would make her pay to the uttermost for the misery she had caused. There was no mercy in him at that moment; the recalling of his father's death steeled his heart, deadened his conscience, made him cruel, hard, almost murderous. She smiled at him and her glance fanned the flame within him.

"To-morrow we journey to London, to-morrow," he thought.

Picton Woodridge was recognized as he came with his trainer to lead Tearaway in. Cheer after cheer was given as he walked beside her through the living lane.

"How are you, Fred?" he asked.

The jockey did not speak, he gazed straight before him with dull eyes, like a man in a dream.

"Brant, he's very ill," said Picton.

The trainer looked at the jockey and was alarmed at the expression on, and color of, his face. There was no spark of life in it and his complexion was a leaden color.

"Keep up, Fred, keep up! You've done splendidly!" said Brant.

Many people in the crowd noticed the jockey's condition and wondered at it.

"He's ill, poor chap."

"The race has been too much for him."

"I heard he was bad before they went out."

"He's a good plucked 'un anyhow."

Many such remarks were passed as Tearaway went in.

"Get down," said Brant sharply, trying to rouse him.

Fred looked at him but did not seem to understand.

"Get down, unsaddle, and weigh in," said Brant.

"Yes, of course, I forgot," said Fred in a hollow voice.

Two of the stewards were looking on; they had just congratulated Picton on his win.

"Your jockey looks ill," one of them said.

"He is; he was very bad, faint, before the race, but he said he'd pull through, and I could not find a good jockey at the last moment," said Picton.

"You might have ridden her," said the other steward. "You are about the weight, and would not have made any difference to the result."

Picton was flattered; this was high praise indeed; the steward was one of the best judges of racing in the land.

Fred managed to take the saddle off and walked with unsteady steps to the weighing room. He sat in the chair with a bump. The clerk at the scales looked at him.

"You're ill, Fred," he said.

The jockey nodded; he would not have been surprised had they told him he was dying. He got up from the scales, and Banks, the rider of Ripon, dropped his saddle and caught him as he fell forward in a faint.

"All right," was called.

Brant came forward; he and Picton carried him outside. A doctor came, ordered him to be taken to the hospital at once, and thither he was conveyed, Picton accompanying him.

When Fred came to, he said to Picton, with a faint smile: "Don't stay here; I'm all right. I did feel bad; I don't know how I stuck on. She's a wonder; she won the race on her own, and carried a log of wood on her back. I was quite as useless; I could not help her at all."

"You are sure you do not wish me to stay?"

"Quite," said Fred. "I shall probably be on the course to-morrow."

"What's the matter with him, doctor?" asked Picton, when they were in the consulting room.

"He's consumptive, there are all the symptoms, and it is weakness caused through that. He may be able to go out to-morrow as he says; it is wonderful how they rally – a flash in the pan. He can't live long, I'm afraid; in any case he ought to give up riding," said the doctor.

"I don't think he'll mind that so much now he's won the St. Leger," said Picton, smiling. He liked the doctor, fancied he resembled some one he knew. "Will you come to Haverton and have a shot on the moor?" he asked.

"You are very kind, Mr. Woodridge, but perhaps when you hear my name you may be prejudiced against me."

"A name can make no difference," said Picton. "What is it?"

"Bernard Elroy."

Picton started; he was much surprised.

"I am the brother-in-law of Mrs. Elroy. Now do you understand?"

"Yes," said Picton. "It makes no difference; all that is past."

"But not forgotten," said the doctor.

"No, it is not. You cannot expect it."

"Mr. Woodridge, if I could prove your brother's innocence, I would. I'd give a great deal to prove it, do anything that would assist in proving it."

"You believe he is innocent?" asked Picton.

"I do not believe he shot Elroy," said Bernard.

"Then who did shoot him?" asked Picton.

"There is only one person can tell us that."

"And it is?"

"Mrs. Elroy," said Bernard.

CHAPTER XXVI
THE STRUGGLE FOR THE CUP

TEARAWAY was in the Doncaster Cup on the concluding day of the meeting, but Fred Erickson was not well enough to ride, although on the course.

Picton said nothing to his brother about Dr. Elroy. Hector had rather a serious wordy encounter with Fletcher Denyer, who called him nasty names, and plainly said he had willfully deceived him about Tearaway. Hector spoke his mind freely, saying he had no wish to see him again.

"If you think you've seen the last of me, you're mistaken," said Fletcher. "I owe you a bad turn and I'll repay it, I always do."

Hector laughed as he walked away. He told Lenise Elroy of the encounter.

"You must choose between us," he said. "I have no desire to meet him at your flat."

"You can easily guess which I shall choose," she said.

He questioned her and she replied, "You."

"The climax is drawing near," he thought.

"You'll run Tearaway in the Cup I expect?" asked Sir Robert. His favorite Tristram was in, and he had no desire to see the celebrated Cup horse beaten by the flying filly, as he feared would be the case.

"I think so," said Picton. "You will start Tristram?"

"Yes. I must not own up I am afraid of your mare; but, by jove, I am, my boy," said Sir Robert.

"It will be a great race between them," said Picton.

"A real sporting event," said Sir Robert. "It will cause more excitement than the St. Leger."

When it became known on Thursday night that Tristram and Tearaway would oppose each other in the Doncaster Cup, and that Ripon, Bronze, Fair Dame, and Sir Charles, would run, excitement worked up to fever heat. Nothing else was talked about in the town at night, and in all the papers on Friday morning mention was made of the great struggle that might be expected. The Special Commissioner wrote that it was an open fact that Tristram and Tearaway had been tried on Haverton Moor before the St. Leger and the filly had won at a very slight difference in the weights, and he concluded as follows: "This being the case, the Leger winner should be victorious, as Sir Robert Raines' great horse will have to give a lump of weight away, so I shall go for Tearaway to win."

This appeared to be the general opinion; only many shrewd men thought Tristram would prove more than a match for Tearaway over the Cup distance. Another argument was that the severe race in the St. Leger must have taken it out of the filly, while Tristram was fresh, and very fit; in fact, Sir Robert's horse was stated to be better than he had ever been. Bronze, too, was given a chance, as he was a proved stayer; while Ripon was not considered out of it.

Much to Rupert Hansom's disgust, Banks declined to ride Ripon and accepted the mount on Tearaway. At first this seemed somewhat unfair, but Hansom had severely taken the jockey to task over his riding in the St. Leger, and Banks resented it, knowing he had done his best.

"Tearaway is the best filly we've seen for years," he said, "and Ripon had no chance with her; you'll see how it is if she runs in the Cup."

"Perhaps you'd like to ride her?" sneered Rupert.

"I should. I will if I get the chance."

His chance came sooner than he expected. Seeing Picton Woodridge on Thursday, before the last race, the jockey said, "Will Fred be well enough to ride your mare in the Cup, sir?"

"No, he's not at all well, Dick. He's consumptive, I'm sorry to say."

"Have you a jockey?"

"Not at present."

"Will you give me the mount?"

"Are you not engaged to ride Ripon?" asked Picton, surprised.

"No, there is no engagement, and I have fallen out with Mr. Hansom about the riding of his horse in the St. Leger," said Banks.

"You are free to ride my mare?" asked Picton.

"Yes."

"Then you shall have the mount. I would sooner see you on her than any one, except Fred," said Picton.

"Thank you, sir," said Banks, jubilant, and went off to tell Rupert Hansom, who said it was an infernal shame, and raved about it to his friends, calling Banks all sorts of names.

"I don't see what you have to complain of," said Mrs. Elroy. "You said he rode a bad race in the St. Leger, jeeringly asked him if he'd like the mount on Tearaway in the Cup, when he replied he would. It appears he took you at your word and accepted the mount when it was offered him; I think he's on the winner."

"Do you indeed?" he said crossly. "I hope if you back her you'll lose your money."

"How very disagreeable you are," she said. "Men with diminutive minds always appear to lose control over their tempers, and forget their manners."

Rupert Hansom found another jockey in Crosby, a very fair rider.

There were seven runners for the Cup, fields had been stronger than usual at the meeting.

Rita looked supremely happy. She knew what was coming; Picton had more than hinted at it. Before she left Haverton he would ask her to be his wife; she knew what her answer would be. She loved him, had done so from the first time they met, and she was quite sure he loved her.

Dick Langford also guessed what was about to happen; it pleased him to contemplate Picton as a brother-in-law.

"I'll give him The Rascal as a wedding present," he said to himself, laughing.

Before they went to the races on Friday he said to Rita: "Picton's having a great week – the Leger, the Cup to-day, a wife before the week's out."

She laughed as she replied: "That's a treble – better than his double on The Rascal."

"You're worth the winning, Rita," he said kindly. "Wonder what I shall do without you."

"Find a wife," she said.

"Expect it will be compulsory; it is not good for a man to live alone," he answered.

A tremendous crowd witnessed the Doncaster Cup. It was as memorable a race as the St. Leger; many thought it more so.

Sir Robert secured the services of May, a reliable jockey, at times brilliant.

"I hope I shall beat you," he said to Picton.

"I hope Tearaway will win," was the laughing reply.

"It will be a great race," said Dick; "but my bit goes on the mare."

"And mine," said Rita.

"And mine," said Hector.

"All against me," laughed Sir Robert. "My hundred or two goes on Tristram."

"Robert, I don't think you ought to bet. Remember the trial," said his wife.

"You against me!" he exclaimed. "I am in a terrible plight indeed."

The horses were out, seven in number, a real good lot.

Sir Robert's face glowed with pride as he heard the roar of cheers which greeted the red jacket and black cap, and his good horse Tristram. Another roar was given for Tearaway; the others were all cheered lustily. They were soon on their journey, Sir Charles making the running, followed by Fair Dame, Bronze, and Harriet, with Ripon, and Tearaway next, and Tristram last. Sir Robert's horse never went to the front in the earlier stages of a race.

Rupert Hansom gave Crosby instructions to keep in touch with Tristram and Tearaway.

"You've nothing else to fear," he said; "and remember there's a hundred for you if you win."

Sir Charles soon dropped out of it and Harriet took his place. At the back of the close the lot closed up, half a dozen lengths separated first and last.

In the straight they swept; then a change took place. Ripon made the first move forward, followed by Tearaway and Tristram.

Up the straight they came at a terrific pace, for Tearaway had gone to the front, and Banks was making every use of her great speed and staying powers.

Cheer after cheer pealed over the course when the saffron jacket was seen in the lead; the filly was favorite, a six to four chance.

Banks kept pushing her along; he did not know how to handle her as well as Fred Erickson, but did his best.

May was riding Tristram strictly to orders.

"Bring him with a rush in the last quarter of a mile," said Sir Robert.

Ripon was going well, but could not keep the pace with Tearaway.

At last May brought Tristram out and the great horse came along with giant strides, his natural style of going. On he came swooping down, passing first one then another, drawing level with Ripon, leaving him, and going in pursuit of Tearaway.

The excitement was intense; all eyes were fixed on the splendid pair, the mare and the horse, owned by two good sportsmen, hailing from Yorkshire, both well known in the county. Captain Ben Bruce was with Brack, who had been persuaded to stop until the meeting was over; he was very fond of the old boatman, and knew he deserved well of them all. Brack was to have a look round Haverton before he returned home. He had backed Tearaway again, and was shouting her name frantically, much to the Captain's amusement. She looked like a winner, she was going so well, but there was no mistaking the way in which Tristram galloped.

"He's catching her!" said Sir Robert excitedly.

Picton smiled confidently; he did not think he would do it.

A great shout went up when Tristram got to Tearaway's girth; May rode a brilliant finish.

Banks handled the filly well, but had not the same powers as Fred Erickson at his best; they were wanted now just to help her home.

Neck and neck they raced, head and head, not an inch between them, outstretched nostrils; it was a tremendous race, one of the best ever seen for the Cup.

Sir Robert and Picton looked on, thrilling with excitement. It was a desperate finish. Both were game, the filly and the horse, and fought to the bitter end. As they passed the judge's box no one could tell which had won.

"Dead heat," said the judge.

Sir Robert and Picton shook hands heartily.

"By jove, what a race!" the baronet said.

"I'm glad it was a dead heat," said Picton. "We've both won."