Beadle's Half Dime Library, No. 152 — page 12: what you’re looking at

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12 2 claimed the first speaker. ‘Give her all the rein she wants, Jack. Give a rogue rope enough and he will hang himself, rou know. But I’ve a notion this ‘* Better late than never is a ood old paeee.-. he cried, on reaching this lady, ** m ough I had ost | given you up.” horse is more likely to hang her master than her- | self.”’ As they entered Paschalville the horse broke into a brisk trot. The driver loosened the reins to see what course she would now take. This was soon evident. She showed her training with the instinct of a doctor’s or a milkman’s horse, swerving from | the road as she came opposite the Bell, and halting in front of the porch of this ancient hostelry. ‘‘Her master has been in the habit of sampling Charley Lloyd’s ale or whisky, that’s sure enough,” asserted the sharp-faced man. “ Hello! within there! Hey! the man of the house!” ‘“ What's broke loose?” asked the landlord, emerg- ing from the stable. ‘“* Do you want to see me?”’ “Yes. We're some old customers of yours, Charley. Don't you recognize our team?” “Tl bet Ido. And you along with it, now. Jack Bra e, the thief-taker, eh? What lay are you on now, Jack?” ‘Got a little business with the proprietor of this team, that’s all,’ replied the black-whiskered travel- er. ‘* Who does it belong to?” “A chap that hangs out somewhere on the road to Darby. I can’t fix him exactly, for he’s a new- comer about here. I've heard him called Phil Han- oy: but wouldn't like to swear that’s his name. on't you get out and take something, gentlemen? You won’t be doing justice to your teain if you don’t, for Phil Handy, or whoever he is, rere has a dry spot that can only be reached by a beaker of ale.”’ ‘‘ Well, we dont’t want to disgrace the horse that hauls us,’ returned Jack, leaping to the ground. He will go better if we honor his judgment by imbibing, What sort of a got-up chap is this Phil Handy?” “ Born in Engtand, I'll go high on that. You can see it in his face, and hear it on his tongue. Heisa tall, raw-boned customer, with side whiskers, sort of sandy color. A long nose, blue eyes, and something of the look of a decayed sport. What is yours, sir? * Oh! Dll follow our friend Jack’s example. His taste in drink is proverbial,’ and the sharp-eyed traveler took up the bottle from which Jack had just poured a generous potation. ** Across the bridge, did you say?’ asked Jack, as they again entered the wagon, after wetting their whistles at the Bell bar. ‘Yes, and straight out the Pike, Give the horse her head. She'll be a queer one if she don’t know na) owe home. What’sup, gentlemen? Some thiev- ng, eh?” * Why, it looks that way. If we are on the right lay you will soon hear of some fun. Whois going to win on the track to-day?”’ ‘The fellow that beats,’ replied the landlord. “'That’s about as good an answer as you gave to my question.” Jack laughed, as he started his horse. ‘* On secret service, you know,” he cried out. ** Will see you at the Suffolk if we get through in time. Good-day.”” ro a good luck,” called the landlord after them cheerily. About a half-mile beyond the Bell they struck the foot of the slope at whose summit stood Luke Lister's habitation. e horse showed no signs of slacking speed at this acclivity, but dashed up the hill with a briskness that was very promising. “It is getting warm, as they say in the game of ‘hunt the slipper,'’’ cried Jack. ‘‘Our Rosinante is not far from home, or I’m much mistaken.”’ His suggestion proved correct. Arrived at the hill top, the horse ran past the modest mansion which crowned the slope, but stopped in front of the gate leading to an equally modest stable in its rear. ‘Struck ile, by thunder!”’ asserted Jack. ‘‘ Jump down and open the gate. We will soon see if a horse remembers his own oat-bin.” His companion did as requested, the horse turning into the gate as soon as it was opened, and making her way with a loud neigh of recognition, to the stable Jack jumped briskly from the vehicle, throwing the reins on her back. “ Loosen her gears and take her out of the shafts,”’ he said. “She deserves a nibble of grass for her honesty. So this isthe burglars’ den, eh? By Jove, it looks as innocent as a lamb’s cote ora dove’s nest. And hasn't as much signs of life as a dead mackerel. But looks go for nothing in our trade. We've got to make our approaches oh The horse was by this time released, and was busily cropping the long grass of the garden. The two men cautiously approached the house, whose open shutters. gave signs of habitation, but about which no life ap : But we must leave them for the present, as affairs at Suffolk Park demand our attention. A second race has been run since our last appearance there, and knots of eager sportsmen are busily ee over the features of the races already accomplished, and canvassing the merits of those yet to come. Pierce Browning is the center of such a group, to whom he is re opinions in his quiet, devil-may-care way, though some seem to look upon him as an oracle. . Mark Preston is there, too, with his pale face and his injured arm. Thereis a deep bitterness in the scowling look which he fastens on Will Wildfire, who ust 1, regardless of his presence. But Will another object in view, of more im- rtance to than the looks of his revengeful foe. e has just caught a glimpse of a fair face, among oe entering at the gate, and pushes quickly for- Ww rr *‘ But the race is not run reer she anxiously in- quired. “‘I would not miss that for anything. But is it not the hour yet?” ‘No. You have an hour’s grace; and another trot to amuse you in the meantime. Come this way. I have reserved a seat for you.”’ The bright face of Clara Moreland looked beauti- ful among all the beautiful women there assembled, as she followed Willin his eager movement. Many eyes surveyed them admiringly, for youth and beauty are always admirable, and Will ond Clara possessed both in their richest prime. Among the eyes fixed on them were those set in the ebony face of old Pomp, who was surrounded by a knot of jockeys, to whom the old fellows opinion was almost oracular. “ Hi!’ he exclaimed, shaking his woolly head in delight. ‘* Dar’s Marse Will an’ his lady. She’s got aface jess like an apple blossom; an’ eyes—golly! I ain't got anoder word to say, on’y if he’s gwine to make a catch dat’s de kind he’s got upfur. Neber had these ole eyes on sich a lubly pair before.” Not far distant from Pomp’s post of honor was another friend of ours, no less important a person- age then Pete, the p! ospective driver of Black Bess. He was talking with a smooth-tongued, ministerial- looking person. “Wrong to drive a hoss! Wonder whar you’s been brung up?"’ exclaimed Pete, with astonishment. “Spec you's neber been eddicated in hoss bizness much. Why, see yere, ain’t it nat’ral fora hoss to run?” * Certainly, that is natural.”’ | | | — — NT a ‘Well, den, it’s jess as nat’ral fur a little nigger to | hang on. If de huss drags him roun’ de track dat aren't his fault, nohow.”’ And Pete laughed heartily, asif he thought he had the best of the argument. ‘Can you read?” asked the other, solemnly. “Wouldn’t brag much "bout eddication ef I could- n’t,”’ asserted Pete. * Then I have a small tract here which I hope you will carefully peruse. Gambling.’ from it.’ He drew the tract in question from his pocket, in company with a handful of peanuts. You will learn some wholesome truths “Golly! dat’s de kind of track dis nig lub best!” | exclaimed Pete, looking longingly at the nuts. “These? Well, I will present you with these if you will only promise to read the tract.” ** Pass it ober,” said Pete. ‘“*Guess I'll masticate it: arter I's done with de peanuts. Talk “bout yer ice cream an’ sich truck! Dey ain’t a patch ‘long- side of peanuts.”’ A few minutes afterward Pete strolled away from his new acquaintance, eagerly munching at his pro- vender ‘**Sold!” cried the tract-distributor, surveying the boy with an evil look. ‘**Dunno ‘bout dese yere nuts,’’ remarked Pete. ‘*Dey ain’t fust crop, nohow. Ouch! dat chap’s bitter as gall. Wonder if the track he gub me is as hard to swaller.”’ CHAPTER XV. THE RACE. A pBreEEz of excitement ran through the assem” bled multitude. The great race of the day was about to come off, the mile trot between horses with a 2:25 record, for which there were five entries, Lady Clare, Rover, Black Bess, Stonewall and Hardy. Little was known about the two last-named horses and the betting had been heaviest on the others. Lady Clare had made magnificent time in former races, and her stock went up rapidly as the curious crowd gathered around the stables, where the racers were being led out and harnessed for the trot. “Isn't shea beauty?” ‘Straight and trim as an arrow.” ‘“ Look at her counter, she’s just magnifi- cent.” “Rather light, Ifaney.”’ ‘* Don’t you believe that. She'll carry her weight.” Such were a few of the many admiring comments with which the tamed lee uilt and splendidly- een horse isthe large bay? , ch horse is the large bay?” ‘That is Rover.” f ** Well, that is what I call a horse. There's bot- tom in that creature. He is no pretty plaything like ft lho “Pretty plaything, eh? Just wait till you see her on the track.’ “*T don't like that fellow with the heavy fetlocks. There's too much weight without muscle to carry it. What horse is it?” “ Hardy.” ** But where is the mare that they tried to poison? A raseally business that was. /1 hope she'll Ad The feeling he was shared by many otbers. There is nothing like a story and a mystery to arouse human interest, and Black Bess was the hero of the day to all who had heard of her lucky escape from poiso ‘ en she was led from the stable a movement of the crowd and a rapid buzz of conversation attesied the general interest. They crowded in upon the space set apart for the horses, many busy comments being made on her appearance. These opinions were not all favorable. “She has no build,” declared one critic. “The creature is too dumpy. And I'll swear she don’t know how to carry her head.” “She hasn't the points of a born racer, that’s flat. I doubt if she’s a thoroughbred.” * But look at her limbs. There’s carry in them, if she only has a good reach.” It is entitled ‘The Sin of | | ' | i | | | | | | | | | = « - - a —————_ — o-oo ‘‘An ungainly brute, I call the horse,” said another adverse critic, turning away in disgust. ‘** Don’t take too much stock in any such notions,”’ replied another, who had been attentively examin- ing the object of the conversation. ‘* Look at the creature’s eye. She says there ‘I won’t be beat’ as plain as if she could talk. And she steps as proudly as a queen. I never saw a tread I liked better. Take my word for it, the horse is not going to be discounted easily.” ‘Who drives her? Jim Mace?’ ‘‘No. The little blacky you see there. That sharp- looking young rascal.”’ ‘*He? Why he is not over fifteen years old; and full Sage pounds under weight.”’ ** But they say he can handle the ribbons as neat- ly as any man on the ground. He has been under old Pomp’s training; Charley Lloyd’s right hand man, you know. There’s no better trainer in the States. That's him at the horse’s head now.” * But about the weight?” ‘‘That’s looked after. The sulky is weighted, I believe.”’ During this conversation the horses were being carefully harnessed, the noble animals being as ten- derly handled as though they were made of fine French china, and would break with very rough handling. Black Bess was the most nervous and uneasy of the lot, stamping and restlessly stirring, while her eye Seng with an almost savage fire. “That boy will never hold her. She wants a stronger hand.” ‘* Plenty of fire there, that’s certain. But Pete’s a sa Nr hound, himself.” “What luck?” asked Luke Lister of the minis- terial-looking individual who had been conversing with Pete, ‘He bit,” was the reply. “I tried the parson dodge on him. Gave him a tract on ‘The Sin of Gambling,’ and a handful of loaded peanuts. The roung devil didn’t take to the tract worth a cent, ut he went for the peanuts as if he’d been through a six weeks’ fast. If his stomach ain't made of cast iron he'll tumble out of the sulky before he’s half round the track.” “Good. We've bucked against Black Bess too strong to afford to have her win the race. I’ve gota cool thousand on her; and I wouldn’t like to say how much Mark has up.” “She won't win it, if there's any virtue in drugs.”” **Hush! We may be overheard.” The two confederates walked away to another part of the field. ‘** Clear the track !’’ came the order from the judges. The horses which were exercising on the track were hurried off, leaving a clear fleld for the racers, which soon appeared, moving gallantly up, and tak- ing their places at the start. ‘““Which horse has won the pole?’ asked Clara Moreland eagerly, as Will returned to her, after a short absence. ‘‘Rover: with Black Bess second, and Lady Clare third. Here they come now. A splendid show.”’ ‘““What horse is the chestnut, that tall, hard- mouthed brute?” “Stonewall.” ‘* He is a well-built horse.—Ah! the little beauty! Is om Lady Clare?” ss "es"? “She might we for an Arabian. Iam half in love with her.—Black Bess is ungainly beside her.”’ ‘Yes,’ replied Will, slightly nettled, ‘* But beauty is one thing, and duty is another.”’ ‘‘Now you are vexed.—I knew you would beif I dared praise any horse but yours. We'll wait till they come upto the winning post before we finish our fight.—Look at little Pete! If he ain’t too comi- cal for an ote, Others thought so too, for a laugh arose at the pre- ternaturally solemn aspect of the darkey, unrelieved by a glimmer of his usual pele 4 He looked important, og , as he grasped the reins with a death-grip, forcing the restive animal down to a slow trot. Pomp bustled up; with a pretense of adjusting some part of the harness. ‘* Don’t you forgit my ‘structions,’ he whispered to Pete. “ Nary forgit,”’ was Pete's sententious answer, as he guided his horse into the line. A moment more and the five animals, side by side, came up at a full dash to the judge's stand. All eyes were alert, every heart stopped beating for an instant, every form was bent forward in eager interest—but the shar Sane gy 2 the bell announced that a fair start had not n made. Stonewall, taking the bitin his teeth, was a half-length in ad- vance of the other animals. The racers had dashed full twenty-five yards ahead before oat could be stopped and returned to the starting point. Twice more a false start was made. The first time it was Hardy, the next Rover, that broke the uni- formity of the line, ‘* Are they never going to start?” asked Clara, im- ry ‘*Here they come ve !—Look at Pete! do believe the little rogue is holding in his horse!” “Tt looks that: , Said Will, frowning. ‘She will never go witha tight rein like that.” Yet there were no of intention in Pete's face; he was solemn as a young monkéy as he brought his Mind ie ners ‘ho ominous ell neu moni ot eo 3 é ominous rung out, It was another ‘start. ge rtape ‘* What does the villain mean?” queried Will. ‘Is that some of Pomp’s instructions? I have a shrewd notion he did that purposely.’ “It looks like it,” returned Clara, shaking her head. Itis beginning to tell, to. Lady Clare is be- IJOO ‘SS “comic (E(0)