Part 19 (1/2)

”Well, you didn't, because there isn't any bridge. It all went out last night,” was the Colonel's astounding answer.

”Be that as it may,” said the Preacher, ”I have come here direct from Cedar Mountain. I left at eight o'clock and here I am, arrived by the road at eight forty-five; and I crossed the Rapid Fork of the Cheyenne on the bridge. I didn't see it. I didn't see my horse from start to finish. I didn't see one inch of the road; but I heard it and felt it.

Anyway, I'm here.”

That night the Preacher stayed at the Fort, but he was up at daylight.

So were the officers, for they had laid bets on this matter. They came to the little canyon, the river, and the place of the bridge; the bridge was gone; but, yes, surely there was one long stringer left. It had been held by the bolt at one end, and the officer charged with repairing the bridge had swung it back into place that very afternoon, and made it firm to serve as a footbridge, though it was barely twelve inches wide.

There, plainly written in the soft earth, was the story of the crossing.

Blazing Star had descended the bank, and had missed the narrow stringer by a yard. He had nosed along till he found it and had crossed over on that with the delicate poise and absolute sense of certainty that would have been destroyed had the rider tried to give a guiding hand. And the end would have been sure death had Hartigan not trusted to his horse so utterly. The best of steed and man had thus begot a creature on a higher plane--in spirit and effect the centaur of the ancient tale.

CHAPTER XXIV

Red Rover

August was advancing with everything shaping for a great local event.

The Corn Dance of the Indians to celebrate the first of the new crop was an old festival and brought hundreds of them together. In addition, the government had selected September fifteenth for the semi-annual issue of the treaty money. This was a coincidence of festivals that insured a great attendance and at all such times horse-racing was the favourite sport.

On the Fourth of July of that year the Indians had produced an extraordinary buckskin cayuse which, in spite of its humble origin and raw exterior, had proved speedy enough to defeat all opposition and capture the big purse. Interest in the opportunity for revenge had grown every day since, and the fact that each Indian family was to get one hundred dollars in cash, enhanced the chances of a fat purse. A winning horse was the first need of the ranchmen and they turned at once to Hartigan and Blazing Star. They were much taken aback to receive from him a flat refusal to enter or to let any one else enter Blazing Star for a race. In vain they held out great inducements, possibilities of a huge fortune, certainly of a big lump sum down in advance, or almost any price he chose to ask for Blazing Star.

Hartigan's reply was an emphatic ”No.” And that was the end of it.

There was nothing for the whites to do but find another racer. There certainly was no such horse as they needed in all the country; had there been, they would have known it; and those who took the matter to heart were planning a visit to Illinois or Kentucky even, where it was simply a matter of money to get a blooded horse that would settle the issue.

While on a long hard trip for the spiritual help of brethren in the South, Jim was left for a day at Chadron, Nebraska, a distributing point for settlers coming to the Platte. With the instinct born of his Western life, Jim made for the big horse corral, which is always on the outskirts of a prairie town and where he knew he could pa.s.s a pleasant hour or more. It was, as usual, crowded with horses of low and middle cla.s.s degree--some old and worn, some young and raw, many extraordinary pintos, one or two mounts above the average of size or beauty, but nothing to secure more than pa.s.sing attention.

The scene in and about the corral held a great fascination for Jim.

There were cowboys and stable hands; farmers whose horses were in the corral or whose homes were in the prairie schooners anch.o.r.ed on the plain near-by; men were coming and going, and groups of children rollicked about the camp fire.

As Hartigan looked on, a young fellow--whose soft, slow speech and ”r”-less words were certain proof of Southern birth--led from a stable a tall, clean-limbed horse and, flopping into the saddle with easy carelessness, rode away. As he pa.s.sed, the horse's coat of bronze and gold fairly rippled in the sun as the perfect muscles played beneath, and the delight that Jim got, none but a horseman would understand. As the lad cantered away to a camping group and returned, the Preacher had a fair view. The horse might have been twin brother to his own, and he did not need the rider's a.s.surance that the steed was a ”Kaintucky blood all right.”

In all the Western towns an interesting custom has grown up in the matter of registering. The chief hotel is accepted as the social centre and clubhouse, so that a man arriving in town, whether he puts up at the hotel or not, goes to the register and enters his name. ”Never fail to register; it may be handy to prove an alibi,” has become a saying. Jim went to the hotel with an idea. He registered, glanced over the other names and learned that Cattleman Kyle was then in town. It was easy to find him in a place of this size, and after a brief search Jim hailed him boisterously from afar:

”Say, Kyle, I've found what you are looking for.”

”What's that?”

”A horse. A real horse. A winner.”

”What? Are you willing to sell Blazing Star?”

”No!” was the forceful answer. ”Come and see.”

And Kyle did see. His eye kindled as he watched the glorious creature in the sun.

”By jinks! He's all right. He's better than Blazing Star.”

”Not on your life!” said Jim, with sudden heat, ”but he's what you are after.”