Part 26 (1/2)

Jebb and Mrs. Jebb and anybody else I could get hold of, to have your probation extended for another year. And the best news we have so far is the possibility of another six months. After that, you must go back to college to complete your course.”

COLLEGE! Jim was thunderstruck. How many a man has all his dream of bliss summed up in that one word--college? ”Oh, if only I had money enough to go to college!” is the cry of hundreds who hunger for the things that college means; and yet, to Jim, it was like a doom of death.

College, with all the horror of the cla.s.sroom ten times worse since knowing the better things. College in the far-off East--deadly, lifeless, crus.h.i.+ng thing; college that meant good-bye to Belle, to life, and red blood on the plains. Yes, he knew it was coming, if ever he gave the horrid thing a thought; but now that it was close at hand the idea was maddening. College was simply another name for h.e.l.l. The effect of the sudden thought on his wild, impulsive nature was one great surging tide of rebellion.

”_I won't go!_” he thundered. ”Belle, do you suppose G.o.d brought me out here to meet you, and have you save me from ruin and help me to know the best things on earth, just to chuck it all and go back to a lot of useless rot about the number of wives the kings of Judah used to have, or how some two-faced Hebrew woman laid traps for some wine-soaked Philistine brute, and stuck the rotten loafer in the back with a kitchen knife all for the pleasure and glory of a righteous G.o.d! I don't want any more of it, Belle; _I won't go!_ You've told me often enough that my instincts are better than my judgment, and my instincts tell me to stay right here,” and his face flushed red with pa.s.sion.

”Dear boy! Don't you know I'm trying to help you? Don't you know I mean to keep you here? You know that we can get anything we want, if we are willing to pay the price, and _will_ have it. I mean to keep you here; only I am trying not to pay too high a price.”

She laid her hand on his. He reached out and put an arm about her. She said nothing, and did nothing. She knew that he must blow off this fierce steam, and that the reaction would then set in with equal force.

They rode for a mile in silence; she wanted him to speak first.

”You always help me,” he said at last, heaving a great sigh. ”You are wiser than I am.”

She gently patted his cheek. He went on: ”What do you think I should do?”

”Nothing for three days; then we'll see.”

They galloped for half a mile, and every sign of worry was gone from his face as they reined their horses in at the stable of Fort Ryan.

CHAPTER x.x.xV

When the Greasewood is in Bloom

Big things were in the air, as all the hors.e.m.e.n knew. Blazing Star had wintered well and, being a four-and-a-half-year-old, was in his prime.

Red Rover in the adjoining stable was watched with equal care. Prairie hay was judged good enough for the country horses; but baled timothy, at shocking prices, was brought from Pierre for the two racers; and, after a brief period of letdown on clover and alfalfa, the regular routine diet of a race horse was begun, as a matter of course. Little Breeches had left, chiefly because of unpleasant remarks that he continued to hear in the stable. He had taken a springtime job among the cattle. So Peaches, having no other string to his bow, allowed the officers ”to secure his services as second a.s.sistant trainer,” as he phrased it, or, as they with brutal simplicity put it, ”as stable boy.” He accepted this gravely responsible position on the explicit understanding that allusions to the late race were in bad taste.

Why should these two horses be so carefully trained? There was no race on the calendar. No, but every one a.s.sumed that there would be a challenge, and n.o.body dreamed of declining it. So, one day when all the plains were spangle-glint with gra.s.s and bloom, the sentry reported hors.e.m.e.n in the south, a band of Indians, probably Sioux. It was an hour before they halted near the Fort, and Red Cloud, on a fine strong pony, came with his counsellors around him to swing his hand in the free grace of the sign talk, to smoke and wait, and wait and smoke, and then speak, as before, on the Colonel's porch.

”Did the Soldier High Chief want a race this year?”

”Sure thing,” was all the interpreter had to trans.m.u.te.

”When?”

”As before.”

”When the greasewood blooms, on the white man's big noisy wet Sunday?”

For the treaty money was to be paid that day. And Colonel Waller's eyes lit up.

So it was arranged that the Fourth of July they should race as before on the Fort Ryan track; the horses were to be named on the day of the race.

And Red Cloud rode away.

Jim Hartigan was present at that interview; he watched their every move, he drank in every word, and he rode at a gallop till he found Belle.