Authors: Matt Chisholm
The stud had by now pulled up almost level with the dun. He had gotten into his stride, but both Sarie and McAllister knew that he had by no means hit his limit; he was merely, at the pace that he could have kept on for hours if need be, McAllister gave a sign to Sarie to hold that pace and the girl nodded acknowledgement. This way they slowly pulled through the main bulk of the riders without straining either
the dun or the stud. They slowed a little through the rough country to avoid the risk of a fall or a broken leg. But after they had been met by the curve in the creek and the field had torn the waters up in a ragged cloud of spray they reached the flat of the valley again and speed was once more possible.
The rough country and the crossing of the creek had eliminated at least three riders. An Indian pony went down with a broken leg in the rough, a cowhand tried to ford in deep water and lost valuable time when his horse swam off down stream and gave up the try. Another cowman lost his seat when he tried to take a too steep part of the bank. The horse rolled on him and it looked to the passing riders that he must have sustained both broken ribs and maybe a leg. Nobody stopped. That was tacitly understood by all the riders. No matter what happened, you kept on going.
Red gained at the ford because he was lucky enough to reach it with a thinned out bunch of riders. He gained still more on the flat and started to pull up on Foley on his gray. The horse was running superbly and Foley was riding him, as McAllister expected him to, with perfection. But, though a string bean of a man, he was far weightier than Sarie and the roan Was carrying a saddle beside. Red started to pull by him. McAllister heard Foley yell at the girl and pulled the dun over so that he came up on the right of Foley, opposite to Sarie. When Foley, unaware of his presence, raised his quirt to lash either at the girl or the stallion, McAllister flicked his own quirt at Foley's arm to announce his presence. Foley's face, sweating and red, turned on McAllister. The man glared with fury, but he did nothing beyond spurring the gray and using the quirt on the animal.
The dun could now have over taken the gray, but McAllister held him in a little, waiting for the distance and the rough going to take the stuffing out of Foley's horse before he passed it and tried to catch Sarie.
This, he considered, might now be impossible. The stallion was stretching out and going hard, determined to overtake the horses in front of him and there was little that Sarie could do about it. McAllister knew that it was now up to Red and that he would run the race his own way, so he prayed that the stud wouldn't drain himself now so that he could not call on the last ounce of strength and speed when needed. Foley was now riding with anger. It showed in every line of the man. He
used the quirt and the spur too much and the gray, unused to such treatment, was getting rattled.
A good fifty paces ahead now, Starlight was starting to pull away from even the fastest of the other horses. Still it ran easily. It was sweating and its satin coat was now flecked with a little snowlike foam, but its pace was unstrained and steady. The Appaloosa was a good four lengths behind and Jack Owen on his bay was starting to pull past him. Another pace behind, the swearing and teeth-gritting McShannon was pushing hard with his fast little sorrel. Another mile would see them in front of the Nez Percé horse. Then came Burville's mount, going well and not straining, its rider no doubt planning a last burst of speed at the end of the race. Pushing him hard came Red, looking like nothing, but showing to anybody that knew anything about horses that here was a horse in a thousand who would run all day and get there fresh. Sarie was perched lightly on his shoulders urging him on only with her voice, equipped neither with spur or whip. Burville's rider glanced over his shoulder at her and, for the first time, looked a little worried. McAllister's dun slowly pulled past Foley's gray. Like the mustang it didn't look much and it was carrying a lot of weight, but it would still be running when a lot of fancier horses had fallen out with heaving sides.
And so they swept across the flat and hit the timber. Here the cowponies came into their own, obeying their riders' wishes on the instant as they weaved this way and that through the trunks of the trees. The thoroughbreds found it gruelling work and the riders were not any happier. Red took it in his stride and needed no guidance. He seemed hardly to slacken his pace at all and his twisting and turning was so rapid that it was all that Sarie could do to stay on his back. Here too, the dun found it easy to leave the sweating and swearing Foley behind. When they started streaming out of the trees, Starlight's lead had been cut, two riders had come to grief from overhanging branches and one thoroughbred of Markham's had been turned badly and had run itself into a tree trunk. Jack Owen and McShannon had both overtaken the Appaloosa and Burville's mount, though still coming on strongly, had been clearly passed by Red. The whole field was now spread over a length of about half a mile.
They thundered down a slope, hit a short flat and then started up another slope. This was perhaps the trickiest part
of the race and McAllister knew that this would be the most gruelling test of all. Starlight's rider didn't seem to slacken pace even slightly as he brought the black gelding onto the narrow trail that rose so steeply through the rocks. McAllister lost sight of him for a moment and then when he appeared again he was in trouble. The black was refusing a particularly bad spot. The rider frantically laid on the whip, obviously worried that the horses and riders behind would run into him on the narrow way. McAllister saw Jack Owen run his bay at the first slope and the stout little animal took it gamely. McShannon's sorrel attacked it with the tenacity of its rider. The Appaloosa, though showing signs of tiredness now, went at it pugnaciously and then there was an almighty pile up and the air was full of curses of men and the neighing of horses. McAllister was debating what he should do when his eye was caught by Sarie on Red. She swerved the big animal to the right, sent him apparently straight into the rocks and disappeared from view. Inwardly, McAllister groaned. This would be the end of the race for the stud. The girl would never manage to get him out of that tangle of brush and rock. But before he knew what he was doing, he swerved the dun and followed her.
He was no sooner among the rocks than he caught sight of the girl ahead of him. She had dismounted from the stud and was running by his side as he scrambled up the rough hillside like a great dog. And they were making it. McAllister could have cheered. The dun came to a halt and he jumped from the saddle. Together they struggled up the steep rough way with the sound of tumult coming from their left. When he was high enough, McAllister looked back and saw that the field had divided itself, half trying to get through the block and half going the way he and Sarie had gone.
Exhausted and soaked in sweat, he at last reached the summit almost too tired to heave himself aboard the dun again. Once up he saw that Sarie was a good hundred yards ahead, now on the stud again and going strong. He gave the dun the spur and went after her.
He covered a half-mile and looked back as he thundered across the high plain. Starlight was in the lead and coming on fast. But he would have to be a good deal faster than that to catch the stud now, McAllister thought. Why even his old dun carrying his weight might have a chance. When he looked
forward again he saw Red and Sarie disappear into a dip in the ground, only to appear a moment later, going hard. At that distance it looked as if the stallion were stepping up his pace. McAllister chuckled to himself. Markham was going to be a very angry man this day. Not only would a mere mustang win his race and beat his precious thoroughbreds, but the winning horse would have been ridden by a mere child.
When he looked back, he was sure now that Starlight was coming on hard and would overtake the dun before the end of the race, unless the dun had some hidden reserve in it. When he looked back again, he thought he saw McShannon and Jack Owen coming up to the rear of the black horse and then Foley on his gray. They were all hitting a good pace. Far behind he saw the bulk of the other scattered riders. If the stallion could hold this pace it meant that Sarie would win by at least a half-mile.
The dun topped the ridge and slid down the other side on its haunches, hopped to the bottom and hit a hard pace again. The red stallion was in sight again now, going straight for home, stretching out with the tiny figure of Sarie crouched up on his back. McAllister could have cheered.
He looked back after a few minutes and saw Starlight come over the ridge. It was in trouble coming down the steep grade, but when it hit the flat it started a fantastic pace. McAllister wondered if it could hold it. The rider was frequently using the quirt now and obviously beating the last ounce of strength from the animal. The sight angered McAllister who knew that wasn't the way to get the best from an animal. But there was no arguing with the fact that the black was coming up on the dun fast. The dun was strong enough and game enough, but McAllister's weight was too much for it.
They were back on the other side of the creek now, following the well beaten trail along its eastern bank. The way was hard and fairly even and a horse could hit a fast pace and hold it. The dun, not breathing hard even yet, settled down to a long stretching gallop. McAllister let it have its head and make its own pace. The animal always gave of its best. He saw Sarie swerve Red into the ford and go across in a plummet of water. He hit the ford a half minute behind her and saw the stallion climb the shoulder of the hill ahead, scarcely breaking its pace to do so. Once at a particularly stiff place, he saw Sarie jump from the saddle and run beside the horse. Thirty paces and
she hauled herself into the saddle again on the run. It was a sight worth seeing.
Starlight hit the ford, ploughed through the water and heaved itself up on the bank on the farther side. Looking back, McAllister had a good look at the black and saw that it was a very tired horse indeed. The climbs had been too much for it. But the rider whipped it on and by the time the dun was halfway up the shoulder of the hill, the black had reached the base and was straining up after it.
McAllister reached the top and plunged once again into timber. Red and Sarie were not out of sight. The dun slowed his pace to negotiate the trees and then burst from them to come to the surprise slope that led down to the flat that continued to the end of the race. McAllister checked the dun for the sudden and abrupt descent. He heard a whinny and turned his head. To his astonishment and dismay he saw Red in the act of climbing to his feet. In that first moment, he could not see Sarie.
He turned the dun quickly and jumped it nearer.
Red got to his feet and stood shaking, covered in dust down one side. Sarie was on her hands and knees. She raised a dust-flecked face to McAllister.
“You hurt, honey?” the man demanded.
She got to her feet in disgust and snarled: “There ain't nothin' wrong with me.”
“Then for God's sake get up an' ride,” he shouted. He could hear the sound of Starlight coming through the timber. He waited long enough to see Sarie drag herself wretchedly onto the stallion's back and turned the dun down the steep grade. Halfway down, he heard Starlight start the descent. When he hit the flat he heard the sound of a horse pounding hard behind him and couldn't supress a grin when he saw that it was Red, mad that its running companion was ahead of it.
McShannon, Owen and Foley came piling out of the trees and started down the steep slope.
McAllister called to the dun and the animal hit a long-paced gallop again with Red no more than three lengths behind it. He heard Sarie calling to her horse.
He thought he could see the roofs of the town in sight now. Not far to go and Starlight seemed to have taken on a new lease of life. It may have been that the black could clearly see
its adversaries and was determined to overtake them, but certainly it came on with an appalling speed. Red was trying his utmost now and within a half-mile it had drawn level with McAllister. The man and the girl grinned at each other.
McAllister called: “You'll do it, sweetheart.”
The girl screamed back: “You bet your damn life I will.”
Then slowly, she passed him and the dun ate the red's dust. McAllister glanced back. Starlight was slowly catching him up. He wondered if he could get any more speed out of the dun without killing it and decided against it. If Sarie won, that was enough.
He glanced back again. Foley and Jack Owen were riding neck and neck. Close behind them came McShannon. The remainder of the riders were pouring from the timber at the top of the slope, several of them coming to grief on the sudden descent.
Half a mile from the end of the race - the crowd was in sight now and he could almost hear them cheering Sarie and the stallion. Starlight's nose was now level with the rump of the dun. It's rider shouted something shrilly to McAllister who shouted triumphantly: “You'll never do it, son.” Red was going like a dream, increasing the distance between itself and McAllister. Starlight drew level with the dun. McAllister glanced at the lovely horse and saw that it had nearly run itself to death.
“Ease up,” McAllister shouted, “you'll kill it.”
The rider's answer was to use the quirt. Slowly, Starlight pulled past the dun, but it was too late. McAllister saw Sarie go across the finishing line, saw the stallion come to a halt and somebody lift the child down from the horse's back. Then McAllister was pulling the dun in and there were people all around him. He stepped down from the saddle and found that he was shaking. Somebody slapped him on the back and said: “Good ole Rem,” and he started toward Sarie, leading the dun. He passed Starlight and saw that the magnificent animal stood with its front legs splayed and its head down. Markham was there shouting in fury at the rider.
Jack Owen pounded in on his bay with Foley close behind him on the gray. Then came McShannon whooping like a wild Kiowa and a cheer went up because he was a popular man in town. Markham took his attention from Starlight's rider and
went over to shout at Foley, It looked like the man was answering back.