Chapter 10

“I'll put a rubber bit in his mouth, to soften it,” he pumped brokenly. “Let out a wrap, girl, and we'll breeze them up the stretch; come on. Carter, get to the front with the mare.” A quarter of a mile from the finish the horses raced into a swinging stride. Diablo was simply mad with a desire to gallop; but in the saddle was his master; no horse ever did as he wished with John Porter. Battling against the sharps his honesty might handicap him out of the strife, but in the saddle the elation of movement crept into his sinews, and he was superb, a king. As a jockey, he would have been unsurpassed. It filled his heart with delight to play with the fierce, imperious animal he rode.

“Steady, my boy--no you don't!” This as Diablo stuck his neck straight out like an arrow and sought to hold the bit tight against the bridle teeth, that he might race at his own sweet will. Back came the right hand, then the left, three vicious saws, and the bit was loose and Diablo's head drawn down again close to the martingale. Lucretia and Lauzanne were pulling to the front.

“Go on!” called Porter to Ned Carter; “I want to see the little mare in her stride. Take them out at three-quarter gallop down the back stretch. I'll be treading your heels off.”

By this they were opposite the old stand, where Shandy was hiding. The boy, surmising that a gallop was on, and anxious to see them as they rounded the turn going down the back, had knocked a board loose to widen the crack. As the horses came abreast, Shandy, leaning forward in his eagerness, dislodged it at the top, and it fell with a clatter, carrying him half through the opening. The wind was blowing fair across the little stand, so the scent of the boy came to Diablo's nostrils at the same instant the startling noise reached his nervous ears. In a swerve he almost stopped, every muscle of his big body trembling in affright. Porter was nearly thrown from his seat by this crouching side step; the horse seemed to shrink from under him. Just for an instant, but the reins had flapped loose against the wet neck and Diablo felt freedom. With a snort he plunged forward like a wounded buck, and raced madly after Lucretia, who had bolted when the crash came.

Porter had lost a stirrup in the sudden twist, and the reins had slipped through his fingers as he grabbed the mane on Diablo's wither to pull his weight back into the saddle.

Now the black neck was straight and taut, flatcapped by the slim ears that lay close to the throatlatch. The thunder of his pounding hoofs reached to the ears of Lucretia and Lauzanne in front, and urged them onward. Carter had sat down in the saddle, and taken a steadying pull at the brown mare. Even Lauzanne seemed lifted out of his usual lethargy, and, widemouthed, was pulling Allis out of the saddle.

“Curse the brute!” gasped Porter, burying his knees in the saddle flaps, and searching for the dangling stirrup with the toe of his right foot. Once he almost had it, but missed; the iron, swinging viciously, caught Diablo in the flank--it made little difference, his terror was complete. All the time Porter was kneading the dangling reins back through forefinger and thumb, shortening his hold for a strong pull at the galloping brute's head.

“Who-o-o-a-h, who-o-o-ah, stead-y!” and, bracing himself against the pummel he swung the weight of his shoulders on the reins. As well might he have pulled at the rock of Gibraltar. Diablo's head was up, his teeth set hard and the man's strength was as nothing against the full-muscled neck of the big horse. Diablo was cutting down the lead the other two held over him, galloping like a demon. Porter felt that he must loosen the bit and throw that set head down to get command of the horse. One fierce yank to the right and the black head swayed a trifle; another to the left and--God in heaven! the rein snapped, and its loose end came back, slashing the rider across the face. He reeled with the recoil, nearly bringing Diablo to his knees with the sudden swing of weight on the right rein. Porter's brain jerked foolishly for an instant; then he was the trained horseman again, and had let the remaining leather slip through his fingers a trifle.

“Go on!” he shouted to those in front; “go on--give me a lead! Hang to the course!”

He realized now that the crazed brute under him must run himself out. All he could do was to sit tight and wait till Diablo had raced himself to a standstill. To use the one rein meant a crash into the rail, and surely death. Before, he had thought only of the horse's welfare; now it was a matter of his own life. All that remained to him was to keep a cool head, a steady nerve, and wait.

Freed of restraint, not battled with, the Black's stride lengthened, his nostrils spread wider, the hoofs pounded quicker and quicker until the earth echoed with their palpitating beat. The other horses heard the turmoil, and they, too, became more afraid, and took up the mad rush.

Diablo's reaching nose was at Lauzanne's hip when Allis took one swift backward glance. She saw the dangling rein, the set look in her father's face, the devil eyes of the horse, and for one breath-gasp her heart fluttered in its beat. As quickly she put the fear from her, and swinging Lauzanne a shade wide, left Diablo more room next the rail.

“On, Lauzanne!” she called through drawn lips; and hitched encouragingly in the saddle.

Lucretia was still in front, her speed mocking at the swift rush of Lauzanne and Diablo. But how the Black galloped! Every post saw him creeping up on the Chestnut, and Allis riding and nursing him to keep the runaway hemmed in at the turns, so that he could not crash through the outer rail. No one spoke again. Each knew that nothing was left to do but keep Diablo to the course, and ride, ride.

Just in front of Lauzanne, with swinging stride raced the brown mare, waiting till the Chestnut should drop back beaten, to take up the running with Diablo. That was Carter's good judgment; and he rode as though it were the Derby, and he was nursing his mount for the last call at the finish.

At the three quarters Lauzanne and Diablo were neck and neck; at the half, the Black was lapped on Lucretia; another furlong and she was laboring to keep her place, nose and nose with him.

“I'm done,” panted Carter, feeling the mare swerve and falter; “I'm done--God help us!”

Still there was no check in the Black's gallop; he was like a devil that could go on forever and ever.

They had turned into the straight with Lucretia a neck to the bad, when Carter heard the girl's voice faintly calling, “Pull out, Ned!” The boy thought it fancy. Lauzanne the Despised couldn't be there at their heels. He had thought him beaten off long ago. But again the voice came, a little stronger, “Pull out, Ned!”

This time there was no mistake. It might be a miracle, but it was his duty to obey. As he galloped, Carter edged Lucretia to the right. Without looking back he could feel Lauzanne creeping up between him and Diablo. Soon the Chestnut's head showed past his elbow, and they were both lapped on the Black. Halfway up the stretch Allis was riding stirrup to stirrup with her father. Porter's weight was telling on Diablo.

“She's got him. Lauzanne'll hold him if he doesn't quit,” Carter muttered, as he dropped back, for Lucretia was blown.

Past the finish post Lauzanne was a head in front, and Diablo was galloping like a tired horse.

“He's beat!” ejaculated Carter. “Hello! that's it, eh? My word, what a girl!”

He saw Allis reach down for the slack rein running from her father's hand to Diablo's mouth. “Missed! She's got it!” he cried, eagerly. “The devil!”

As Allis grasped Diablo's rein, the horse, with sudden fury at being drawn toward Lauzanne, his old foe, snapped at the Chestnut. As he did so, thrown out of his stride, his forelegs crossed and he went down in a heap with the rider underneath. The force of his gallop carried the Black full over onto his back. He struggled to his feet, and stood, shaking like a leaf, with low-stretched neck and fearcocked ears, staring at the crushed, silent figure that lay with its face smothered in the soft earth. In a dozen jumps Allis stopped Lauzanne, threw herself from the saddle, and leaving the horse ran swiftly back to her father.

“Oh, my God! he's dead, he's dead!” she cried, piteously, the nerve that had stood the strain of the fierce ride utterly shattered and unstrung at sight of the senseless form.

“He's not dead,” said Carter, putting his hand over Porter's heart. “It's just a bad shake-up. Mike's coming, and we'll soon get him home. He'll be all right, Miss Allis--he'll be all right,” he kept muttering in a dazed manner, as he raised her father's head to his knee.

“Take Lucretia and gallop for the docthor, Miss 'Allis,” commanded Mike coming up on the run. “We'll get yer father home in the buggy.”

“In God's mercy, don't let him die, Mike,” and bending down she pressed her lips to the cold forehead that was driven full of sand. “Get him home quick, and try not to let mother see. I'll take Lauzanne.”

Lauzanne had followed her and was standing waiting; his big eyes full of a curious wonderment. Mike lifted Allis to the saddle. As he drew back his hand he looked at it, then up at the girl. “Don't cry, Miss,” he said, struggling a little with his voice that was playing him tricks; “yer father's just stunned a bit. The dochtor'll brace him up all right.”

“It's bad business, this,” he continued, as Allis galloped on her errand, and he helped Carter lift the injured man. “There, that's roight; jist carry his legs; I'll take him under the back.”

As they moved slowly toward the buggy that stood in the paddock, Diablo followed at their heels as though he had done nothing in the world but take a mild gallop. “Ye black divil!” muttered Mike, looking over his shoulder; “ye've murthered wan av the best min as iver breathed. If I'd me way, I'd shoot ye. I'd turn ye into cat meat; that's what ye'r fit for!”

“What broke the rein?” he asked of Carter as they neared the buggy; “what started thim goin'?”

“Somebody was in the old stand,” Carter replied, as putting his foot on the step he raised himself and the dead weight of the limp man.

“There, steady, Ned. Pull the cushion down in the bottom. Now ye've got it. Bot' t'umbs! it's as good as an ambulance. I'll hold his head in me lap, an' ye drive. Here, Finn,” he continued, turning to the boy who had caught and brought up Lucretia, “take the wee filly an' that divil's baste back to the barn; put the busted bridle by till I have a good look at it after. Go on, Ned; slow; that's it, aisy does it. When we get out on the turnpike ye can slip along.”

When they had turned into the road he spoke again to Carter, “Ye were sayin', Ned, there was a guy in th' ould stan'.”

“Yes,” replied Carter; “somebody was toutin' us off. A board broke, an' that frightened the boss's mount.”

“I t'ought I see a b'y skinnin' off the track,” commented Gaynor. “First I t'ought it was Shandy, but what'd he be doin' there? Did ye see his face, Ned?”

“I was too busy takin' a wrap on Lucretia; she was gettin' a bit out of hand.”

When they came to the gate which gave entrance to Ringwood house Mike said to Carter, with rough sympathy in his voice: “Slip in ahead, Ned, and tell the Misses that the boss has had a bit av a spill. Say he's just stunned; no bones broke. Bot' t'umbs! though, I fear he's mashed to a jelly. Ask fer a bottle of brandy till we give him a bracer. Ned!” he called, as Carter slipped from the buggy, “see if ye kin kape the Misses from seein' the boss till the docthor comes. Git hould of the girl Cynthie, an' give her the tip that things is purty bad. Go on now; I'll drive slow wid wan hand.”

Mike's kindly precautions were of little avail. Mrs. Porter saw the slow-moving conveyance crawling up the broad drive, and instinctively knew that again something terrible had occurred. That Allis was not there added to her fear.

“He's just bad, ma'am,” Carter was saying, as Mike reached the steps. But she didn't hear him; her face was white, and in her eyes was the horror of a great fear, but from her lips came no cry; her silence was more dreadful than if she had called out.

“We'll carry him, ma'am,” Mike said, as she came down the steps to the buggy, and clutching the wheel rim swayed unsteadily. “Jest git a bed ready, Misses,” Gaynor continued, softly; “git a bed ready, an' he'll be all roight afther a bit. He's just stunned; that's all, just stunned!”

It was curious how the sense of evil had limited each one's vocabulary.

“Let me help,” pleaded Mrs. Porter, speaking for the first time.

“We'll carry him, Misses--he's just stunned,” repeated Mike, in a dreary monotone, as feeling each step carefully with his toe he and Carter bore the still senseless form into the house. The wife had got one of the battered hands between her own, and was walking with wide, dry, staring eyes close to her husband.

“O John, John! Speak to me. Open your eyes and look at me. You're not dead; O God! you're not dead!” she cried, passionately, breaking down, and a pent-up flood of tears coming to the hot, dry eyes as the two men laid Porter on the bed that Cynthia had made ready.

“There, Misses, don't take on now,” pleaded Mike. “The boss is jest stunned; that's all. I've been that way a dozen toimes meself,” he added, by way of assurance. “Where's the brandy? Lift his head, Ned; not so much. See!” he cried, exultantly, as the strong liquor caused the eyelids to quiver; “see, Misses, he's all roight; he's jest stunned; that's all. There's the dochtor now. God bless the little woman! She wasn't long!”

The sound of wheels crunching the gravel, with a sudden stop at the porch, had come to their ears.

“Come out av the room, Ma'am,” Mike besought Mrs. Porter; “come out av the room an' lave the docthor bring the boss 'round.” He signaled to Cynthia with his eyes for help in this argument.

“Yes, Mrs. Porter,” seconded Cynthia, “go out to the porch; Miss Allis and I will remain here with the doctor to get what's needed.”

“Ah, a fall, eh,” commented Dr. Rathbone, cheerily, coming briskly into the room. Then he caught Mike's eye; it closed deliberately, and the Irishman's head tipped never so slightly toward Mrs. Porter.

“Now 'clear the room,' as they say in court,” continued the doctor, with a smile, understanding Mike's signal. “We mustn't have people about to agitate Porter when he comes to his senses. I'll need Cynthia, and perhaps you'd better wait, too, Gaynor. Just take care of your mother, Miss Allis. I'll have your father about in a jiffy.”

“He's jest stunned; that's all!” added Mike, with his kindly, parrotlike repetition.

It seemed a million years to the wife that she waited for the doctor's outcoming. Twice she cried in anguish to Allis that she must go in; must see her husband.

“He may die,” she pleaded, “and I may never see his eyes again. Oh, let me go, Allis, I'll come back, I will.”

“Wait here, mother,” commanded the girl. “Doctor Rathbone will tell us if--if--” she could not finish the sentence--could not utter the dread words, but clasping her mother's hands firmly in her own, kept her in the chair. Once Mike came out and said, “He's jest stunned, Ma'am. The docthor says he'll be all roight by an' by.”

“He won't die--”

“He's worth a dozen dead men, Ma'am; he's jest stunned; that's all!”

There was another long wait, then Dr. Rathbone appeared.

“Porter will be all right, Madame; it'll take time; it'll take time--and nursing. But you're getting used to that,” he added, with a smile, “but,” and he looked fixedly at Allis, “he must have quiet; excitement will do more harm than the fall.”

“Tell me the truth, doctor,” pleaded Mrs. Porter, struggling to her feet, and placing both hands on his shoulders, “I can stand it--see, I'm brave.”

“I've told you the truth, Mrs. Porter,” the doctor answered. “There's no fear for your husband's recovery if he has quiet for a few days.”

She looked into his eyes. Then crying, “I believe you, doctor; thank God for his mercy!” swayed, and would have fallen heavily but for Mike's ready arm.

“She'll be better after that,” said the doctor, addressing Allis. “It has been a hard pull on her nerves. Just bathe her temples, and get her to sleep, if you can. I'll come back soon. Your father is not conscious, or will he be, I'm thinking, for a day or two. He has heavy concussion. Cynthia has full directions what to do.”

XVI

After Dr. Rathbone had left Mike and Carter went down to the stables.

“I'll jest have a look at that broke rein,” said Gaynor; “that sthrap was strong enough to hang Diablo. If there's not some dirty business in this, I'll eat me hat. T'umbs up! but it was a gallop, though. The Black kin move whin he wants to.”

“But what do you think of old Lauzanne?” exclaimed Carter. “He just wore Diablo down, hung to him like a bulldog, an' beat him out.”

“It was the girl's ridin'; an' Lauzanne was feared, too. He's chicken-hearted; that's what he is. Some day in a race he'll get away in front av his horses, an' beat 'em by the length av a street. He'll be a hun'red to wan, an' nobody'll have a penny on.”

When they arrived at the stable Mike headed straight for the harness room. The light was dim, coming from a small, high, two-paned window; but Mike knew where every bridle and saddle should be. He put his hand on Diablo's headgear, and bringing it down carried it through the passage to a stable door where he examined it minutely.

“Jest what I tought. Look at that,” and he handed it to Carter for inspection. “How do ye size that up, Ned?”

“The rein's been cut near through,” replied Carter. “I wonder it held as long as it did.”

“A dirty, low-down trick,” commented Mike. “I'll hang it back on the peg just now, but don't use it again fer a bit.”

As he reentered the saddle room briskly his heel slipped on the plank floor, bringing him down. “I'd take me oath that was a banana peel, if it was on the sidewalk,” he exclaimed, after a gymnastic twist that nearly dislocated his neck. “Some of ye fellows is pretty careless wit' hoof grease, I'm thinkin'.”

More out of curiosity than anything else he peered down at the cause of his sudden slip. “What the divil is it, onyway?” he muttered, kneeling and lighting a match, which he held close to the spot. “Bot' t'umbs!” he exclaimed, “it's candle grease. Have aither of ye b'ys been in here wit' a candle? It's agin the rules.”

“There isn't a candle about the barn, an' you know it, Mike,” cried Carter, indignantly.

Mike was prospecting the floor with another light.

“Here's two burnt matches,” he continued, picking them up. “An' they were loighted last night, too. See that, they're long, an' that means that they wasn't used for lightin' a pipe or a cigar--jes' fer touchin' off a candle, that's all. I know they was loighted last night,” he said, as though to convince himself, “fer they're fresh, an' ain't been tramped on. If they'd been here fer two or three days, roight in front of the door, they'd have the black knocked off 'em wid ye boys' feet. This wan didn't light at all hardly, an' there's a little wool fuzz stickin' to it. Gee! that manes some wan sthruck it on his wool pants. Git the lantern, Ned, p'raps we'll fin' out somethin' more. The light from that high up winder ain't good enough fer trackin' a bear.”

When the lantern was brought, Mike continued his detective operations, nose and eyes close to the floor, like a black tracker.

“What's that, Ned?” he asked, pointing his finger at a dark brown spot on the boards.

Carter crouched and scrutinized Mike's find. “Tobacco spit,” and he gave a little laugh.

“Roight you are; that's what it is. Now who chaws tobaccie in this stable?” he demanded of Carter, with the air of a cross-examining counsel.

“I don't.”

“Does Finn?”

“No; I don't think so.”

“Didn't Shandy always have a gob of it in his cheek--the dirty pig?”

“Yes, he did, Mike.”

“I t'ought so; I t'ought it was that blackguard. But how did the swine get in here? The stable was locked, an' I had the key in me pocket. I'll take me oath to that.”

Carter took his cap off, ran a hand reflectively up and down the crown of his head, canvassing every possible entry there might be to the stalls. Suddenly he replaced his cap and whistled softly. “I know, Mike; he crawled through the dung window. I've seen him do it half a dozen times. When he was too lazy to go for the keys, he'd wiggle through that hole.”

Mike said nothing, but led the way to the back of the stable. There he climbed upon the pile of rotting straw, and examined closely the small, square opening, with its board slide, through which Shandy had passed the night before.

“God! I t'ought so!” he ejaculated. “Here's more tobacco spit, where the cutt'roat divil stood when he opened the winder.”

Looking down, his eye caught the glint of something bright deep in the straw. He dug his hand down into the mass and brought up a knife. “Whose is that, Ned?” he queried.

Carter looked at it closely. “Shandy's,” he answered; “I'll swear to that. I've borrowed it from him more than once to clean out the horses' hoofs.”

“Bot' t'umbs up! I'd hang that b'y to a beam if I had him here. He cut that rein as sure as God made little apples,” declared Mike, vehemently. “An' the gall av him to go an' sit there in the ould stand to watch the Black run away wit' somewan an' kill 'em. Now jest kape yer mouth shut, Ned, an' we'll put a halter on this rooster. By hivins! when I git him I'll make him squale, too!”

XVII

The seriousness of Porter's accident became clearer to Doctor Rathbone the following day. He imparted this information to Allis; told her that in all probability it would be weeks before her father would be strong again.

“In the meantime, little woman, what are you to do with all these hungry horses on your hands?” he asked.

The girl's answer came quickly enough, for she had lain awake through all the dreary night, thinking out this problem. Without medical knowledge she had felt certain that her father was badly injured, and the gloomy future had come to her in the darkness instead of sleep.

“I'll look after them,” she answered the doctor, quite simply.

A smile of skepticism hovered about his full lips, as he raised his eyes to the girl's face, but the look of determination, of confidence that he met put his doubts to flight. “I believe you can do it, if any man can,” and he put his big hand on her slight shoulders, as much as to say, “I'm behind you; I believe in you.”

Of course an inkling of Porter's condition had to be given his wife, though the full gravity was masked. This was done by Allis, and Mrs. Porter immediately became a prey to abject despair.

The first thing to be done was to get rid of Diablo. She was too gentle to ask that he be shot, but he must go, even if he be given away. She would willingly have sacrificed all the horses. Always with their presence had come financial troubles, spiritual troubles; now the lives of those dear to her were in actual peril. No wonder the good woman was rendered hysterical by the strong emotions that swayed her.

In her depression she somewhat startled Allis by insisting that they must send for Mr. Crane at once. After all, it was not so unreasonable; with the master of Ringwood helpless, who else could they consult with over their entangled condition? For, the past year Porter had found it necessary to keep in constant touch with the bank; so they must become familiar with the details of the entanglement.

Mrs. Porter had come to have the utmost confidence in Crane's friendship and ability; he was the one above all others to have Diablo taken off their hands. So Philip Crane, to his intense delight, was summoned to Ringwood. This was his first knowledge of Porter's mishap, for he had been in New York.