CHAPTER THREE
Last Event
I
T
was the third and last day of the rodeo. All morning it had
rained and the track was soggy and the turf was like grease. But during the
early part of the contest there had only been clouds and now the sun was
threatening to break through.
The rodeo was drawing to a close and the last contest
rides were done. Two punchers were in the hospital with cracked bones and
another was not feeling too well, though he hobbled around. The slippery grass
was murderous. A bulldogger's heels could find no hold and just kept plowing.
Broncs went down at unexpected moments.
Only the trick riders had come through unscathed, though
wet ropes had not been easy to handle.
Tension had come into the day with dawn for Long Tom
Branner. And with the rain it had increased. Vicky had not come through on the
bucking contest but Long Tom had. His mount, Crabapple, had fallen three times
in three jumps and he had been shaken up more than he cared to admit.
But his belt still glittered and people still persisted
in calling him that distant, if respectful, “Mr. Branner.”
He was uneasy when he saw anyone laughing from afar. He
knew there was a great deal of merriment in the air about what Vicky had done.
But she was not cocky about it. She merely continued to
avoid him, which was just as bad.
And so he sat on the top of a chute gate and hooked in
his heels and stared gloomily across at the stands.
It was funny. Here he had worked like a fool to get to
be a champion. He had ridden buckers in his dreams and in his waking hours for
six years. And he was the champion and everybody called him “Mr. Branner.”
He had started out just to be able to hand the world to
the girl he loved. And she hated him for it.
A long, long time ago he had tried to convince her that
he wasn't just a bashful kid. He had almost broken his neck more than once to
show her how he could ride.
And before that things had not been too bad. She had
been as nice to him as she was to anybody else. She used to like to steal a
couple of Stuart's horses after the day's show and go ride out with him when
the moon made everything blue.
But somehow he had never had the courage to press that
suit. He had made those dozen stumbling, blushing efforts and each time he had
failed miserably. And so he had gone out and conquered the highest throne in
the rodeo world just to be able to get high enough to make her see him.
Yes, he had come near breaking his neck for a girl and
now when she talked to him at all, she bit him.
But she wasn't like that to the rest of the world. She
was all smiles and kindness and men respected her as a beautiful woman and an
excellent rider.
Why the devil had she ever taken up this riding anyhow?
he asked himself. She had no reason like he had to go around smashing herself
up on tricky man-killers. Somehow it wasn't ladylike.
Suddenly he straightened up. There was Vicky, walking
down the fence toward the chutes from the back gate. One glimpse of her was all
it took to make his bitterness fade. There was a patch of sunlight hurrying
across the arena and it struck Vicky and her golden spurs glowed and the silver
concha
of her chin thong glittered.
He wished he could always see her that way.
Unfortunately for Long Tom, the diamonds and gold in his
championship belt threw out blinding sparks in the same flash of sunlight.
Vicky swerved her course toward him.
Over to Long Tom's right, half a dozen riders were
hazing
twenty horses into line, getting ready for the last event, the wild
horse race. The din of yips and quirts and snorts and hoofs was deafening but
Long Tom did not even hear them. He was watching Vicky come near.
She nodded to the arena boss as he trotted by and the
arena boss smiled and tipped his hat.
Long Tom uncomfortably realized that she was going to
approach him personally and talk to him. He slid down off the gate and stood in
an attitude which looked defiant but which was merely defensive.
He was a pretty picture of a puncher standing there, but
he didn't know it. He was something which had just stepped down from the rodeo
posters.
And Vicky did not miss the attitude.
“Two men,” said Vicky, “were laid out this afternoon.”
“Yeah,” said Long Tom.
“And that will leave their places in the wild horse
race.”
Long Tom looked at her suspiciously.
“And,” said Vicky, “there isn't any objection to you and
I taking those places.”
“So what?” said Long Tom.
Vicky was very casual. She flicked her quirt against one
flaring white wing of her chaps and looked at Long Tom's glittering belt.
“There are two mankillers in that crowd,” said Vicky,
indicating the herd of wild horses which was still coming out. “Some of the
boys are betting that neither one of them can even be saddled out in the
arena.”
“Yeah?” said Long Tom.
Vicky smiled, but not very pleasantly. “Yeah. We've
never tried this. We've never matched ourselves up in open contest on broncs.
One of those horses is Thunder and the other is Wild Bill. We obey the rules.
We saddle and then go once around the track, if we can.”
“And?” said Long Tom.
“And I've got three thousand dollars saved up, Long Tom
Branner.”
“So have I.”
“Okay, Mr. Champion Bronc Twisteroo, put up or shut up.
If I win I get three thousand cash and you never say another word to me about
anything such as how to ride. And if you win . . .”
Long Tom didn't know how he had suddenly gotten so bold.
He squared off. “If I win, you don't have to pay up. You marry me.”
She gasped and stood motionless.
“That's right,” said Long Tom swiftly. “You think you're
better than me. Okay, you've got a chance to prove it.”
She was breathless with shock. “But I didn't think . . .
I mean that's . . .”
“Put up or shut up!” said Long Tom truculently. “You win
and you'll never be bothered by me again and you'll be richer by three thousand
dollars. I win and I win. Is that clear?”
She colored and raised her head defiantly. “Yes, that's
clear. God, but you hate yourself!”
“Yeah?” said Long Tom.
“I know what would happen to me if I lost!” said Vicky.
“I doubt that you'd keep the bargain,” snapped Long Tom.
That was the blow which ignited the powder magazine of
her anger. She got white and then whirled and stamped away.
Long Tom watched her go. He didn't feel just right. He
didn't want her to fight Thunder or Wild Bill around that slippery, mucky
track.
But she hated him when he refused to beat her.
And this time he would beat her!
“Joe!” yelled Long Tom to a rider. “I'm taking Bart
Johnson's place on Wild Bill.”
The puncher looked startled. “Yes, Mr. Branner.” He
turned in his saddle. “Hey, run Wild Bill back in!”
Long Tom strode across the soft turf toward the stands.
The arena boss had stopped beside Vicky and now he quirted up and came trotting
toward Long Tom.
“Miss Stuart is riding Thunder,” said the arena boss in
a surprised tone of voice.
“I'm on Wild Bill,” said the twister.
“For God's sake!” said the arena boss, hurrying away.
Bart Johnson's two friends were hurrying across with
saddle and hackamore to Long Tom. And the friends of the other injured man were
loping toward Vicky. Everywhere men were running with saddles or harassing
snorting, stamping mustangs into various places in the arena.
The announcer blared through the speakers, “Laaadies and
genulmen, there are two additions, two startling additions, to the wild horse
race! The last event on the program and the last event of the rodeo. The young
lady in white whom you have seeeen taking events for three days against all
comers, one of the world's greatest riders, Miss Vicky Stuart!”
A roar of sound swept through the stands. More than one
gentleman up there had lost his heart during the last three days, though Vicky
might be a dozen worlds away from them and would never even know their names,
much less ever see them.
The announcer went on. “And over there to your right is
a tall young fellow with
hair pants
and tan Stetson. He looks pretty gaudy
around the middle. That glitter you see is a belt studded with diamonds and
worked with gold and on it is written, âWorld's Champion Buckeroo.' Ladies and
genulmen, Mr. Long Tom Branner!”
There was another roar and Long Tom blushed and got busy
with the saddle.
Wild Bill was forced up. He had his ears laid back and
his eyes were wilder than his name. His nostrils were flaring and he tried to
strike out with his front feet. A puncher tried to hold his head down but was
sometimes lifted clear off the earth.
The other puncher finally got hold on the head and began
to bite Wild Bill's ear to distract his attention.
Vicky's Thunder was striking out with vicious hoofs and
screaming vengeance while her two punchers fought to make him stand still.
All over the arena men were fighting twenty broncs in
separate groups and more than one shin was being scarred. Punchers were
fighting and swearing and horses were fighting and swearing.
At last all was at least as calm as the
Battle of the Marne
. Saddle, mount, ride and the first one to make a complete circuit of the track was
the winner.
Vicky looked across the surging field at Long Tom. Her
jaw was set and she blazed with determination. Once and for all she would show
him.
And Long Tom also blazed. Here was the chance he had
prayed for and no punches would be pulled this time.
A gun banged. Twenty mounts were startled into furious
activity by the unaccustomed slap of saddles on their backs. Mounts and men
went down in mad, muddy fights.
Long Tom's helpers threw the saddle on Wild Bill and the
old bronc had never shown such deadly fury. Wrenching a tormentor clear of the
earth, Wild Bill tried to plunge away. He was held down by sheer strength.
Hurriedly Long Tom reached under for the cinch and
brought it back. As he fastened it, Wild Bill surged away from him.
Vicky had her saddle in place but Thunder was not going
to let any more weight be put upon him. She thrust her foot into the stirrup
and tried to swing up, holding the reins so that Thunder had to curve in toward
her. But Thunder exploded.
Wild Bill reared and struck down, missing. A puncher got
the blind back on him and for an instant the outlaw stood still in fright.
Long Tom leaped into the saddle. But before he could
find the other stirrup, Wild Bill began to explode.
The flapping stirrup banged into Long Tom's shin. He
kicked at it, on his way to the zenith. He found it when Wild Bill came down
stiff-legged and roaring with rage.
Wild Bill was not to be beaten so easily. He began to
buckjump, short vicious stabs at earth with straight hoofs. He sailed upward
again and came down the other way around.
Long Tom rode and rode gracefully. But it was one thing
to stick and quite another to get this screaming half ton of fighting horse
headed out for the track.
Vicky had no eyes for anything but the saddle. Thunder
was going round and round as she strove to mount.
Abruptly she reversed the tug on the reins and, for an
instant, the mount was still. She sprang up. Thunder leaped skyward. Holding
with her knees alone, she got the other stirrup. And then the grandstand was
mixed up with the chutes and the fence was vertical and nineteen other horses
were bucking through the clouds.
Thunder wanted to run but he was headed wrong. She tried
to turn him and he fought for his head, lunging blindly through scattering
groups of men and horses.
Mud and flying batwings made up the world for an instant
and then Vicky saw that she was going right. She saw something else. The flash
of diamonds in a belt told her that Long Tom was the first to reach the track
and start around.
With a mad rush, Thunder plowed through the white rails
of the track, sending splinters flying. He almost fell as he skidded in the
mud. Vicky pulled him upright by yanking the reins.
Long Tom was on the track. But Wild Bill started into
another fury of bucking and Tom was too much of a
buckaroo
not to fan.
Wild Bill tried to rush the wrong way around and Long
Tom harassed him into turning in another direction. Out of half an eye, Long
Tom saw the white blur on an exploding mount and knew that he and Vicky were
the first ones out in the track. It was treacherous work here, as any moment a
mount might fall.