The Ramblin' Kid Part 31

The Ramblin' Kid had no breakfast. To secure it he would have been required to leave the horses. That he would not do. Of course he might have told Old Heck or Skinny to bring or send him something, but he did not feel inclined to mention, in the presence of Carolyn June and Ophelia, that he was hungry. Anyhow, well, they were having a good time and what was the use of bothering them?

When Gyp finally came with the lunch the Ramblin' Kid was outside the stall and had walked a little way up the stable street. Captain Jack and the filly were in a compartment at the end of the string of stalls. The one next to it, back toward the grandstand, was unoccupied, and adjoining that was a hay room. Gyp stopped opposite the open door of the compartment in which the bales of hay and straw were piled. He paused a moment and turned as if to go back.

"Hold on there!" the Ramblin' Kid called to him. "What you tryin' to do?

Starve me to death?"

"D' last thing I'd want to do, Bo!" Gyp laughed good-naturedly. "Did I miss you this mornin'? Here, come inside where I can set this bloomin'

junk down on a bale of hay for a minute an' I'll fix you up!"

The Ramblin' Kid followed Gyp into the stall.

The tout stooped over, with his back to the other, and slipped a capsule containing a white powder into a coffee cup which he filled quickly with the black liquid from the tin pot he carried. He handed the cup to the Ramblin' Kid. The latter took it and sat down on a bale of hay lying opposite. The coffee was just hot enough to melt, instantly, the capsule and not too warm to drink at once. The Ramblin' Kid was thirsty as well as hungry. Lifting the cup to his lips, while Gyp, fumbling for a sandwich, watched him furtively, he drained it without stopping.

"That's--what was in that?'" he asked, eying the tout keenly. "It tastes like--!"

"Just good old Mocha an' Java!" Gyp interrupted lightly. "Maybe it's a little strong. Here, take another one!" reaching for the cup.

The Ramblin' Kid started to hand the cup to Gyp to be refilled--a queer numbness swept over him--the cup fell from his hand--he swayed--tensed his body in an effort to get up--mumbled thickly:

"What th'--what th'--?"

The tout backed away toward the door, crouching like a cat ready to spring, his beady eyes half-frightened, watching the poison deaden the faculties of the other. He leaped through the door, glanced up and down the stable street--deserted at that hour except for a few drowsy attendants lounging in front of their stalls--jerked the door shut, hooked the open padlock through the iron fastenings, snapped its jaws together and muttered, as he hurried away:

"I guess that guy won't ride the Gold Dust maverick in any two-mile sweepstakes to-day!"

As the door slammed shut the Ramblin' Kid pitched forward, unconscious, on the bale of hay.

CHAPTER XVI

THE SWEEPSTAKES

The Clagstone "Six" was parked, Friday afternoon, in its usual place near the east end of the grandstand and close to the entrance to the track. Old Heck and Ophelia were alone in the car. Carolyn June and Skinny, on Pie Face and Red John, watched the afternoon program from the "inside field" across the race track. Parker and the Quarter Circle KT cowboys were also mounted on their horses and in the field opposite the grandstand.

Never had there been such a jam at a Rodeo held in Eagle b.u.t.te.

The two-mile sweepstakes, itself the "cow-man's cla.s.sic" and the great derby event of western Texas, always drew record crowds the day on which it was run.

This Friday the grandstand creaked under its load of humanity.

The racing feud between the Quarter Circle KT and the Y-Bar and the thousands of dollars Old Heck and Dorsey were known to have bet on their respective favorites acted as tinder on the flame of public interest in the big event.

Thunderbolt had a great reputation. Last year, and the year before, he had mastered the field of runners put against him.

The Gold Dust maverick--named in the race "Ophelia"--was a wonder horse in the minds of the people of western Texas who had heard of the beautiful, almost super-creature, that had tormented, with her speed and endurance, the riders of the Cimarron and now at last was caught, and to be ridden in the sweepstakes, by the Ramblin' Kid.

At two-forty a special exhibition of "Cossack Riding"--partic.i.p.ated in by Lute La.r.s.en, of Idaho; Jack Haines, from Texas, and Curly Piper, a Colorado cowboy, finished in front of the grandstand.

The announcer trained his megaphone on the vast crowd:

"The next event," he bellowed, "two-mile sweepstakes! Purse one thousand dollars! Five entries! Naming them in their order from the pole: Thunderbolt, black Y-Bar stallion, Flip Williams, rider; Say-So, roan gelding, from the Pecos River, Box-V outfit, Jess Curtis, rider; Ophelia, Gold Dust filly, the Cimarron outlaw from the Quarter Circle KT, th' Ramblin' Kid, rider; Prince John, sorrel gelding, from Dallas, Texas, 'Snow' Johnson, rider; Dash-Away, bay mare, from Jackson Hole, Wyoming, Slim Tucker, rider. Race called at three o'clock sharp! Horse failing to score on the dot will be ruled out! Range saddles to be used.

Entries for the two-mile sweepstakes will show at once on the track!"

Dead silence ensued during the announcer's drawling oration.

It was followed by the hum of five thousand voices as they chattered in eager expectancy.

The band crashed out _Dixie_ and a medley of southern melodies.

Chuck and Bert reined their bronchos up to Parker.

"We're going over and see how th' Ramblin' Kid is making it," Chuck said. "He might need that filly herded a little to get her through this jam." And they galloped their horses across the track toward the stables.

Carolyn June and Skinny decided to watch the sweepstakes from the car, with Old Heck and Ophelia. They rode Pie Face and Red John over to the Clagstone "Six." Carolyn June dismounted and stepped up on the running-board of the car, holding Red John loosely by the bridle rein.

"Gee," she laughed, "but I'm nervous!"

Old Heck reached over and patted her hand.

"Wait till they start to run before you get hysterical," he chuckled.

"There'll be time enough then for excitement!" One could never have told, by his actions, that within the next few moments he would lose or win fifty thousand dollars.

Chuck pulled Silver Tip to a stop in front of the stall where Captain Jack and the Gold Dust maverick were standing.

"They're getting ready for the sweepstakes!" he called, thinking the Ramblin' Kid was in the compartment with the horses. "You'd better be putting your rigging on the filly," as he slid from his broncho and stepped to the door of the stall.

There was no answer. He peered into the half-gloom of the place.

It was empty save for the two horses.

"That's funny as thunder," he said, puzzled, to Bert. "Where'd you reckon th' Ramblin' Kid is?"

"Darned if I know--ain't he there?" Bert answered, riding up so he could look into the door.

"Look around a little," Chuck said anxiously. "Maybe he's just stepped away for a minute--Hey!" he called to an attendant of a stall a short distance down the stable street, "have you seen anything of th' Ramblin'

Kid--the feller that has these horses?"

"Naw," was the careless answer, "I ain't seen him for two hours."

"Something must be wrong!" Chuck exclaimed. "You stay here and watch!

I'll go see Old Heck--maybe he knows where he is."

"h.e.l.l, yes!" Bert said as the other started Silver Tip in a run toward where the Clagstone "Six" was parked. "He's got to be found! n.o.body else but him can ride the maverick!"

At the car, before his horse was fairly stopped, Chuck leaned over and asked, tensely: