Blister Jones Part 26

1. Tres Jolie--b. m. by Hamilton--dam Alberta. John C. Dillon, Lexington, Kentucky. (Manders--blue and gold.)

"What sort of jockey is Manders?" I asked Blister.

"Good heady boy," was the reply.

"Virginia, oh, Virginia, isn't she a lamb?" gasped Mrs. Dillon.

"She's a stuck-up miss," said Miss Goodloe in an even tone, and I almost hated her.

Number 2 I failed to see as they paraded past.

Number 3 was a gorgeous black, with eyes of fire, powerful in neck and shoulders, and with a long driving hip. He was handsome as the devil and awe-inspiring. Applause from the stands likewise greeted him, though it was feeble to the howl that had met the favorite.

"There's the one we've got to beat," Blister stated.

"Good horse," said Judge Dillon quietly.

3. Rob Roy--bl. s. by Tempus Fugit--dam Marigold. Henry L. Whitley, New York City. (Dawson--green and white.)

I read. I followed him with my eyes and wished him somewhere else. He looked so overpowering--he and the millions behind him. . . .

At last, a quarter of a mile away, they halted in a gorgeous shifting group. And the taut elastic webbing of the barrier that was to hold them from their flight a little longer, was stretched before them.

They surged against it like a parti-colored wave, and then receding, surged again, but always the narrow webbing held them back. I found the blue and gold. It was almost without motion--it did not shift and whirl with the rest.

"Ain't she the grand actor?" said Blister with delight. "The best mannered thing at the barrier ever I saw."

Then for a moment I lost the colors that had held my gaze. They were blotted out and crowded back by other colors. In that instant the wave conquered. It grew larger and larger. It was coming like the wind.

But where was the blue and gold?

I was answered by a heaven-cleaving shout that changed in the same breath to a despairing groan. It was as though a giant had been stricken deep while roaring forth his battle-cry. The thousands had seen what I had missed--their hopes in an instant were gone. In the stillness that followed, a harsh whisper reached me.

"_She's left_! _She's left_!" Then an uncanny laugh. The rock had broken.

The wave was greeted by silence. A red bay thundered in the lead.

Then came a demon, hard held, with open mouth, and number 3 shone from his raven side. Followed a flying squadron all packed together, their hoofs rolling like drums. And then came aching lengths, and my eyes filled with tears and something gripped my heart and squeezed it as Tres Jolie, skimming like an eager swallow, fled past undaunted by that hopeless gap.

"Whar my baby at?" asked Uncle Jake. He had heard the groan and the silence, and fear was in his voice.

"Oh--Uncle Jake--" began Mrs. Dillon. "They--" her voice broke.

"Dey ain' left her at de post? Doan' tell me dat, Miss Sally!"

Mrs. Dillon nodded as though to eyes that saw. Uncle Jake seemed to feel it.

"How fah back? How fah back?" he demanded.

"She ain't got a chance, Uncle Jake!" said Blister, and dropped his head on his arm lying along the railing.

"How fah back?" insisted the old negro.

Blister raised his head and gazed.

"Twenty len'ths," he said, and dropped it again.

"Doan' you fret, Miss Sally," Uncle Jake encouraged. "She'll beat 'em yet!"

"Not this time, old man," said Judge Dillon very gently. He was tearing his program carefully into little pieces, with big shaking hands. . . .

The horses were around the first turn, and the battle up the back stretch had begun. The red bay was still leading.

"Mandarin in front!" said some one behind us. "Rob Roy second and running easy--the rest nowhere!"

"Jes' you wait!" called Uncle Jake.

"You ole fool n.i.g.g.e.r!" came Blister's m.u.f.fled voice.

Even at that distance I could have told which one was last. The same effortless floating stride I had noticed long ago was hers as Tres Jolie, foot by foot, ate up the gap. At the far turn she caught the stragglers and one by one she cut them down.

"Oh, gallant spirit!" I thought. "If they had given you but half a chance!"

I lost her among a melee of horses, on the turn, as the leader swung into the stretch. It was the same red bay, but now the boy on the black horse moved his hands forward a little and his mount came easily to the leader's side. There was a short struggle between them and the bay fell back.

"Mandarin's done!" cried the voice behind us. "Rob Roy on the bit!"

"I might have known it!" I thought bitterly. "He looked it all along."

Then a gentle buzzing sprang up like a breeze. It was a whisper that grew to a muttering, and then became a rumble and at last one delirious roar. The giant had recovered, and his mighty cry brought me to my feet, my heart in my throat--for "_Tres Jolie_" he roared . . . and coming! . . . coming!! . . . coming!!! . . . I saw the blue and gold!

A maniac rose among us and flung his fists above his head. He called upon his G.o.ds--and then that magic name--"_Tres Jolie_," he shrieked: "_Oh, Baby Doll_!" It was Blister--and I marveled.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "Tres Jolie!" he shrieked.]

I had seen him stand and lose his all without a sign of feeling. But now he raved and cursed and prayed and plead with his "Girlie!"--his "Baby Doll!", and with the last atom of her strength his sweetheart answered the call.

She reached, heaven alone knows how, the flank of the flying black, and inch by inch she crept along that flank until they struggled head to head.

"Oh, you black dog!" howled Blister, wild triumph in his voice.

"You've got to beat a race hoss _now_!"

As though he heard, the black horse flattened to his work. Almost to the end he held her there, eye meeting eye. The task was just beyond him. Even as they shot under the wire, he faltered. But it was very close, and the shrieking hysterical grand-stand grew still and waited.

I glanced at Blister. He was leaning forward, almost crouching, his face ashen, his eyes on the number board.

Then slowly the numbers swung into view, and "_1, 3, 7,_" I read.

There was a roar like the falling of ten thousand forest trees. These words flashed through my mind. "We'll know about _her_ when she goes the route, carryin' weight against cla.s.s." . . . . Yes, we knew about _her_--now!