the race-track at calthorpe was a matter of no small pride to its citizens. any western city could possess broad and beautiful avenues. any city might well boast hotels of six, eight, or even ten floors, and express elevators, and things of that sort. a cathedral was not unknown even, and electric surface cars. but a race-track--a recognized race-track--which was included in the official western circuit of race meetings, was certainly a matter for more than ordinary pride.
such regard was undoubtedly meted out to it, and as a corollary there were prophets in the city who foresaw the later development of a country club, with a golf course, and the provision for every other outdoor sport under its luxurious administration. those who could afford such luxuries pretended to look upon these things as indispensable, and those who couldn't regarded them with simple pride, and lived in the glamour of their reflected glory, and told each other how such things should be administered.
such developments, however, were for the future. the race-track existed, and, amongst its many other delights, it supplied the cranks with a text for frequent sermons.
it was set in a luxurious woodland dip, well beyond the town limits, and occupied a small flat of rich grass through which a mountain creek wound its ridiculously tortuous course. thus it was provided with the natural resources demanded by a steeplechase course as well as the "flat."
it was a toy which the wealth of the neighborhood had been poured out upon with no niggard hand, till it found itself possessed of a miniature grand stand, a paddock and loose boxes, for the use of many a pony whose normal days were spent roaming wild upon the plains. then there was the polo club house and ground, where many of the city's social functions were held. the whole thing was as pretentious as money could make it, and in due proportion it was attractive to the minds of those who believed themselves leaders in their social world.
nan tristram understood all this and smiled at it, just as she understood that to absent oneself from the polo club races in cattle week would be to send in one's resignation from the exclusive social circles to which she belonged, a position quite unthinkable for one who sought only the mild excitements which pertain to early youth.
the noon following the ball, and all the disturbed moments which it inspired, found nan on the way to the polo club races. her party was riding, and it was an extensive party. there were some twenty and more saddles. luncheon had been sent on ahead, catered for by aston's hotel at jeffrey masters' expense, one of the many social duties which his election to the presidency of the western union cattle breeders' association entitled him to undertake during the cattle week.
it was a gay party, mostly made up of young and prosperous ranchmen, and the girls belonging to their little world. nor among them could have been found any one more brightly debonair and attractive than nan tristram.
there was never a sign about her of the disquieting thoughts of overnight. such things might never have been. her eyes, so soft and brown, were sparkling with that joy of life which never fails in its attraction even for the most serious mind. she sat her brown mare astride with the easy grace of a born horsewoman. her equipment lacked no detail in its comparison with that of the other women. bud's warning on this point had fallen upon willing and attentive ears when he had handed the girl a signed blank check. and the old man had found ample reward for his generosity in the rivalry amongst the men for his "gal's" escort.
the only shadow which fell across his enjoyment had occurred when he beheld jeff leading the cavalcade at the side of mrs. van blooren. but in nan's case it seemed to give not the smallest qualm. her one single purpose seemed to be to obtain a maximum of enjoyment at the side of young bill dugdale, a college-bred youth of more than ordinary repute as a prosperous cattleman.
the day was fresh for midsummer. the sky was ruffled with great billowing white summer clouds, and a cool northwest breeze was coming off the mountain tops. the whole world about them was assuming that tawny green of the ripening season, and the trail was sufficiently dusty for its abandonment in favor of the bordering grass. but if midsummer reigned over nature, spring, fresh, radiant spring was in the hearts of those seeking the mild excitement of calthorpe's race-track.
nan and young dugdale laughed and chattered their way in the wake of the several couples ahead. dugdale's desire to please was more than evident. and nan was at no time difficult. just now she seemed to enter into the spirit of everything with a zest which sent the man's hopes soaring skyward.
once only during the brief ride did the girl give the least sign that her interest lay on anything but her good-looking escort. it was at a moment when dugdale was pointing out to her the humorous inspiration of his own registered cattle brand.
"you see, 'b.b.' don't sound much of a scream, miss tristram," he said, in great seriousness. "i don't guess it's likely to set you falling out of your saddle in one wild hysterical whoop of unrestrained mirth. course i'm known by it, same as you're known by the 'obar,' but some of the language the boys fix to my brand 'ud set a baptist minister hollerin' help. say, i can't hand you it all. i just can't, that's all. 'bill's bughouse' is sort of skimmed milk to pea soup. then there's 'bill's boneyard.' that wouldn't offend any one but my foreman. 'busy bee' kind of hands me a credit i don't guess i'm entitled to. but there's others smack of the intelligence of badly raised hogs." then he laughed. "the truth is, when i first pitched camp on lime creek i wasn't as wise to things ranching as a sunday-school committee. i lived mostly on beans an' bacon, and when the boys fell in at night, why, i don't guess there was much beside beans and bacon to keep 'em from falling into a state of coma on my blankets. it generally fixed them right, and i'm bound to say they never seemed to find they couldn't sit a saddle after it. yes, and hit the trail for fifty miles, if there was fresh meat at the end of it. i sort of got known around as 'beans and bacon.' then it was abbreviated to b.b. and so when i registered my brand it just seemed natural to set down b.b."
nan's laugh was very genuine. dugdale's ingenuous manner always pleased her.
"you hadn't learned prairie hospitality," she said. "you surely were committing a grave offense."
the man was full of pretended penitence.
"i don't guess that needed learning!" he said, with a wry smile. "the boys just handed it to me same as a parson hands a heart-to-heart talk on things you're hatin' to hear about. oh, i was put wise quick. but when you've got just about ten thousand dollars that's telling you you're all sorts of a fool, and you're yearning for 'em to believe you're a twin brother to pierpont morgan, why, you don't feel your hide's made of gossamer, and don't care a cuss if folks start right in to hammer tacks into it for shoe leather."
"and the dollars? you convinced them?" nan's eyes were full of humor.
"convinced 'em?" the man's eyes opened wide. "say, miss tristram, it was a mighty big argument. oh, yes, and i guess there were times when we come near bein' such bad friends that i wanted to hand 'em right on to the nearest saloon-keeper i could find. but in the end i won. oh, i won. i just told 'em right out what i thought of 'em, and their parents, and their ancestors, and their forthcoming progeny, and--that, seemed to fix things. they got civil then. sort of raised their hats, and--got busy. you'd be astonished if you saw the way they hatched out--after that. you see," he added whimsically, "there's just about only one way of makin' life act the way you need it. set your back teeth into the seat of things, and--hang on."
but nan's reply was slow in coming, and her usually ready laugh was not in evidence. his final remark had brought very near the surface all those feelings and thoughts she had striven so hard to bury where they could no longer offend. it seemed to the man that her eyes had grown unnecessarily serious. but then he did not know that there was any unusual interest for her in the fact that jeff masters was escorting mrs. van blooren.
when she did speak it was with her gaze fixed upon the couple ahead.
"yes, that's it," she said. "hang on. hang on with every ounce of courage and strength you've got. and if you've got to go under, why, i guess it's best done with a smile, eh?" quite abruptly she indicated the woman in front. "i do think she's real beautiful, don't you?"
"who?" the man had no concern for anybody at that moment but the girl at his side.
"who? say, aren't you just foolish. i was thinking of mrs. van blooren."
the man laughed.
"i surely am," he declared. "and i've won prizes for thought-reading at parlor games, too."
they both laughed. then nan went on with a persistence which was quite lost upon the thought-reader.
"who is she? mrs. van blooren?" she demanded.
"why, you met her, sure?" then the man added with some significance: "she's riding with jeff masters."
"oh, yes. i've met her. i met her last night, and i've seen her many times before." then she added with a shadow of coldness in her manner: "but she doesn't belong to the cattle folk."
the man's eyes were following the direction of nan's.
"no-o," he said seriously. "guess i'm not wise. they say her husband was a rancher--before he acted foolish an' died."
nan's laugh came readily.
"that's bright. i don't guess he started running cattle--after."
dugdale chuckled explosively.
"who's to say?" he cried. then he went on with enthusiasm: "say, wouldn't it be bully to think of? just get a thought of it. flapping around with elegant store wings, rounding up golden steers trimmed with fancy halos, and with jeweled eyes. branding calves of silver with flaming irons and turning 'em out to feed on a pasture of purple grass with emeralds and sapphires for blossoms all growing around. and then----"
"think again. say, your taste's just--cheap. but we're talking of mrs. van blooren."
"i'm sorry. why, i guess she's daughter to the carruthers's. john d. carruthers. he was principal at st. bude's college. pensioned. guess it's five years since she handed us boys the g. b. and hooked up with a white-gilled hoodlum from down east. he got around here with a wad he'd raised from his father. can't say who his father was. folks guessed he was some millionaire. i don't just know the rights of it. anyway, he left her well enough fixed. gee! fancy a feller acting that way--dying, with a wife like that. wonder what sort of mush he kept in his thinking depot? i'd say folks with sense have to live on the chances fools can't just kick to death. anyway, seeing she's started right in to set her wings rustling again i guess some feller with hoss sense'll be getting busy. they'd make a swell couple," he added with a grin. "jeff's a good-looker."
nan nodded.
but she made no answer. had the man been less concerned with his match-making suggestions he must have observed the effect of his careless words. nan had paled under the pretty tanning of her rounded cheeks. she was hurt, hurt beyond words, and though she could willingly have cried out she was forced to smother her feelings. the panic of the moment passed, however, and, with a great effort, she was able to give her suggestion its proper value. but somehow, for the rest of the ride, it seemed to her that the sun was less bright, the wind even had become chilly, and altogether there was a curious, enervating world-weariness hanging over everything.
by the time they reached the race-track she felt in her simple heart she ought to apologize for having spoiled her escort's ride. but the inclination was only the result of her depression. she even told herself, with a gleam of humor, that if she attempted it she would have to burst into tears.
however, the later excitement of the racing helped to revive nan's drooping spirits. the scene was irresistible. the atmosphere. the happy buoyant enjoyment on every side could not long be denied whatever the troubles awaiting more sober moments. there were the sleek and glossy horses. there were the brilliant colors of the jockey's silks. there was the babel of excited voices, the shouting as the horses rushed down the picturesque "straight." then the betting. the lunching. the sun. the blessed sun and gracious woodland slopes shutting in this happy playground of men and women become children again at the touch of pleasure's magic wand. no, for all her anxiety, nan had no power to withstand the charm and delirium of it all. and, for a while, she flung herself into it with an abandon which matched the most reckless.
twice she found herself in financial difficulties through reckless betting, and twice the open-handed bud had to come to her assistance. each time his comment was characteristic, and nan laughed at him with the irresponsibility of a child who tastes the delight of gambling for the first time.
"say, little gal," bud admonished her, the second time he unrolled his "wad" of bills. "makin' dollars on a race-track's jest about as easy as makin' ice-cream. ther's jest one way of doing it. ast yourself which hoss you're craziest to dope out your money on, an' when you're plumb sure then get right along an' bet on the other feller. meanwhiles think in dollars an' play in cents."
and nan's answer reflected her feelings of the moment.
"you can't play in cents, my daddy, when it's time to play in dollars. you never know when the time's coming along when even cents are denied you."
then before the worshipping parent could add to his advice the girl darted off with her hands full of outspread bills seeking the pool rooms.
she had seen the horses cantering over to the post for the half-mile dash. it was a race for legitimate cow-ponies and she knew jeff's "sassafras" was running in it. she meant to bet on jeff's horse. it mattered nothing to her what other horses were running. she knew little enough of their claims. she had one thought in life. anything to do with jeff masters, anything of his was good enough for her to gamble on--even with her life. this was the real, all unconscious nan. it was not in her to give half measure. she had no idea of what she was doing. she had no subtlety or calculation of anything where her love was concerned. she would back jeff to the limit, and stand or fall by it. it was the simple loyalty and devotion which only a woman can yield.
on her way to the pool room she encountered jeff himself, and, in the excitement of the moment, clasping her money in both hands, she thrust them out toward him.
"say, jeff," she cried, "i'm just crazy. the horses have gone right out to the start now, and--and i'm gasping to put my dollars on sassafras."
the man's quiet smile was good to see. and nan warmed under its influence. this was the jeff she had known so long and loved so well. there was no other woman near to have provoked that smile. it was hers. she felt it was all hers, and her eyes shone up into the depths of blue she so loved.
"why, nan, i just hate to disappoint you," he said, in a gentle fashion. "but you'll surely be crazy to back my plug with tommy cleveden's 'jack rabbit' in the race. it's a cinch for him. it is so."
nan laughed a glad buoyant laugh.
"jack rabbit?" she echoed scornfully. "why, he points the toe. guess he'd outrun sassafras if he kept his feet, but he'll never do it. he'll peck. then he'll change his stride. no, jeff. sassafras goes with me."
the smile in the man's eyes faded out. he hated the thought of nan losing her money on what he considered a foolish bet. his practical mind could not see under her purpose.
"say, nan, just don't you do it," he said persuasively. "we aren't. we're backing jack rabbit for a big roll."
"we?"
"mrs. van blooren and me."
jeff's manner was quite unconcerned. at that instant he had no thought of anything but to dissuade nan from throwing her money away uselessly. and nan. her eyes never wavered for an instant in their regard. their warmth of expression remained. yet it was a cruel blow. perhaps the cruelest that could have been inflicted at such a moment. jeff had inflicted it--jeff of all men.
she smiled up at him. oh, how she smiled. her eyes shone like two superb brown diamonds as she forced her money upon him with even greater determination.
"take it, jeff. take it," she cried urgently. "say, if you never, never do another thing for me--ever. take it, and, why, i guess every cent of it says sassafras wins. sassafras is your pony, jeff, and i'd back him if he'd only three legs and a fence post." then just the smallest gleam of the woman peeped through. "maybe mrs. van blooren's a pretty bright woman. but i guess i'm wise to horses."
jeff hurried away. there was no time to waste. the horses had already assembled at the start. nan watched him go with eyes that had lost their last gleam of sunshine. the mask she had set up before the man had completely fallen. jeff was--was betting for mrs. van blooren! he was betting with her! maybe even they were pooling their bets! oh!
for some moments she stood alone where jeff had left her. everybody had rushed to the fence of the enclosure, crowding to witness the race. nan seemed to have forgotten it. it was bud's voice that finally claimed her, and she tried to pull her scattered faculties together.
she reached bud's side amongst the crowd, and the old man's shrewd eyes searched her troubled face.
"what's amiss, nan?" he demanded, in a tone almost brusque.
and the girl responded with a wistful smile.
"why, daddy, i've bet all your money on jeff's sassafras, and--and i want him to win more than anything--anything in the world."
bud's reply was lost in the sudden shout that went up. it was the start. some one made way for nan, and gently pushed her to a place against the railings. the winning-post was directly in front of her. the full breadth of the track was in her view. she gazed out with eyes that were very near tears. she saw a vista of green and many figures moving beyond the track. she heard the hoarse cries of men, whose desires exceeded their veracity as they shouted the progress of the race. but nothing of what she heard or beheld conveyed anything to her. her heart was aching once more, and her thoughts were heavily oppressed, and all the joy of the day had suddenly been banished.
then of a sudden came that greatest of all tonics. that irresistible sensation so powerfully stimulating that no trouble can resist it. the racing horses leaped into her view, and the disjointed shouts welded into one steady roar. nan was caught in the tide of it all. the blood seemed to rush to her head like full rich wine. she added her light cries to the general tumult.
"sassafras! sassafras!" she cried, with eyes blind to all but the indistinct cluster of the straining horses.
then in her ears rang a cry:
"a hundred dollars jack rabbit! a thousand! jack rabbit! jack rabbit!"
it was like a douche of cold water. the girl's heart sank. she felt, she knew that jack rabbit had won. then into her ears poured a babel of voices. the roar had died out, and the crowd were waiting for the numbers to go up.
nan had no further interest. she turned to seek her father. he was there, not far behind her, and she pushed her way toward him. she smiled bravely as she came up, but the pathos of it was lost on bud. he was craning, and his eyes were on the number board. he did not even see her.
"i'm--i'm sort of tired, daddy," she began.
but bud held up his hand. there was a rattle at the number board. nan understood. she waited. then it seemed as if the crowd had timed itself for one unanimous shout.
"sassafras!"
it came with a sort of electric thrill for the girl. in one wild moment all her shadows seemed to clear.
"sassafras!" she cried.
and her father's deep gray eyes beamed down upon her
"you've sure guessed right, little gal," he said. "an' i--hope it was dollar time."
at that instant jeff thrust his way through the crowd, and the warmth of his smile flooded the girl's heart with happiness.
"say, nan," he cried, holding out his hand with an enthusiasm that was hardly to be expected in one who has lost, "you got us all beat a mile. you surely have. sassafras. my old sassafras. say, who'd 'a' thought it?" nan's hand remained clasped in his, and she seemed to have no desire to withdraw it. jeff looked round into bud's face. "do you know what she's won? do you, nan?" he went on to the girl again.
nan laughed. it was all she wanted to do.
"not a notion, jeff. i handed you all daddy gave me. how much was it, daddy?"
"five hundred."
nan's eyes widened in alarm.
"five hundred? and i bet it all on--sassafras!"
"and you've won nearly five thousand," cried jeff, stirred completely out of himself at the girl's success.
"i--i must have been--crazy," she declared, in an awed voice.
bud laughed, but his eyes were full of a sympathy that had no meaning for the others.
"not crazy, little nan. jest good grit. guess jeff didn't see the pool waitin' around for him to pick up. wal, guess ther's a heap o' folk like him. you played right out for a win, an' you won--by a head."
