Eight

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       Paul McWhorter had scant moments to speak over the fallen man before shouts and the sounds of running feet lead a crowd of anxious men to view the site.

            “  It’s only a flesh wound, the bullet went through and through.  “

            “  It ain’t you flesh what’s seared!  “  The wringing man groaned.

            “  Make them think they succeed or they’ll make you dead,  “  He warned. “ I want the name of the man who killed my friend!  “

            “  That name’s going with me to my grave, Copper! Or next time they won’t just fire a warning shot!  “

            “  Fine. “  Paul snorted in contempt, and he pushed himself to his feet, forcing his way through the men who stood gap mouthed at the sullen figure rising up from the hard packed dirt with blood running down his sleeve.  The pain finally proved too much and being so marred he hadn’t ben able to steak anything of value so he reluctantly offered to work around the office to pay off the cost of cleaning and binding the swollen flesh.

            “  My things are as valuable as my time, I don’t want you stealing them. Sides, the Marshall was in here earlier and paid for it.  “

            “  If there’s anything left over, it belongs to me!  “  Peter growled unhappily.

            “  The only thing that belongs to you, since I recognize the clothing you’ve ruined as being to Henry Baker, is my boot as far up your posterior as I can shove it without losing it! Now get!  “ 

            The man jumped down from the table, half way convinced the scowling barber meant it. But he passed at the door.

            “  What’s a posterior?  “

            “  It’s where a man like you keeps his brains. It’s where you sit!  “

            The injured man said something under his breath and fouled the floor with a short vicious cough, running into the dust as hard as his spindly legs would carry him as the first race almost scalped him with the blur of riding crops slashing at other riders. Finding a horse and a wagon tied to a tree near the edge of town, he sat briefly, trying to make his head stop spinning and his stomach to growl with less violence. When no one approached to challenge him, he loosened the feed box from the horse's mouth, gobbling the crushed oats whole, then he lead the horse back to the small, worn wagon and hitched it back up, all the way to the river road before the first heat was won and people began to look at one another and their surroundings.

-

            Eduardo Messinger was a man who had to win, even when his horse hadn’t raced.

            “  You know your horse would have come in fifth if my horse had been in the race, Marshall?  “  Messinger said with a toothy grin.

            “  I didn’t think he was your horse any more, sir. “  Paul said pleasantly, but inwardly he was seething. The stallion’s nostrils had been red and dripping by the time he cross the finish line, his legs working like pistons in a steam engine given too much coal. He stopped to withdraw his horse’s name, moving the painted metal jockey representing the Twin’s mount into the top four, then he found the gallant bay trembling with exhaustion, too tired to even raise his head at the riding crop that flicked angrily near his eyes.

            “  You’re fired. Here’s three twenty-dollar gold pieces, don’t even both to pick up your things, I’ll have them shipped to the address you leave at the train station. Go now before I regain my good senses and shoot you dead on the spot so you can’t ever harm another horse like this again!  “

             Crooning softly, he picked up the bridle and coaxed the old stallion into a trembling walk. Keeping his pace to what the wrenching sobs of forced breath would allow until the Bay slowly regained his strength. Pulling off the darkened saddle and wet pad, Paul covered the shivering stallion with a horse blanket and checking his eyes and mouth for blood, or the lack of it. Then he handed the foam covered bridle to James Mason, who was now walking beside them, sobbing softly and crooning the old horse’s name as Gent lowered his head from time to time to pull on the boy’s shirt button in play.

            Even without a bridle the well-trained old horse followed after the boy’s lead.

            “  Walk him till he’s dry before you let him have any water and make sure its air temperature, or we’ll kill him.  “

            “  I know sir. Grandma should’ a let me ride him, I knew you just wanted to be there to watch the others, I wouldn’t have tried to win against horses half his age, Uncle Paul!  “

            “  She didn’t know, and neither did I, or I would have asked her myself. But he’s alright now, and that’s what matters.  “

            “  Can we go back to the house when he’s try, Marshall?  “ 

            “  I think he’s earned the right to stay and enjoy the rest of the day and the town picnic, James Mason, don’t you?  “

            The boy’s head shook ‘no’, and Paul had to struggle to make him look up at him. His ruddy cheeks were wet with tears and his soul torn by self-abrogation.

            “  You’re only responsible for the actions you do, or encourage others to do. This was a lesson to both of us. That’s the best we can ask when we’ve made such a grievous mistake as I did, that we learn from it and not repeat it. You hear, son?  “

            James Mason nodded, indecisive, unable to make eye contact with Paul until Gent suddenly whirled in front of him, his head and tail raised like one of the Arabian Barb’s of his secret dreams as he trumpeted loudly to a passing mare, who swished her tail and held it to one side, obviously in foal fever. It took both of them, linking hands, to restrain and coax the old horse into his assigned stall, but as he stood at the door of the stable, his muzzle dripping diamonds of fresh spring water as his whole body trembled now from the force of his ringing neighs to a distant and retreating neigh, James Mason found it in himself to smile, and he scolded the taunt old body for having ‘impure thoughts’, before he resumed whistling as he gently laid the soft brush against the sweat dried hairs on the old stallion’s neck, combing them back into a silky wave.

-

            “  Where’s Miss Daisy?  “

            “  Lying down. I didn’t want to say anything in front of Becka, to worry her, but the real reason for our trip North is to go to a specialist in New York City. Our doctor is worried about a lump she found in her….upper torso.  “  He waved his hand vaguely toward the top of his half, then motioned for Paul to join him at the hotel table where he’d set up the chess board.  “  I don’t know what I’m going to do if I have to go on without her, Paul.  “  He said under his breath, leaving his head tripped forward to hide the threat of tears.

            “  You’ll have her memory to walk beside you every day, say as if she was here, Judge. Same as I have Birdie.  “

            Willard looked up; then thought better of it, looking away quickly to motion the waiter to bring the steaming mugs he ordered. He chuckled as Paul McWhorter cautiously sniffed at the contents of his cup before pouring a measure on his saucer to sip.

            “  I haven’t touched a drop of whiskey since the night you and Luke stood up for me to say “I do” before the preacher man, ain’t needed it. Her love is reason enough to start and end each day by drawing a sober breath, Paul. I swear by all that’s holy.   “  Then the joy went out of his face and he teared up again but neither man spoke of it as they decided on their opening gambits.

            “ You don’t have to turn around, Paul, I think you can see them in the mirror. But those new friends of Becka’s sure seem awfully intimate with one another to be married to someone else, if you don’t mind my gossiping.  “

            Paul was about to look up casually when a young messenger came to the door hastily, looking around as if he’d just lost his best friend and thought to find him hiding here. Instead he walked to Paul, and waited while the white haired man searched his pockets in vain for a coin to give him for his efforts. 

            “  Pick pockets? Let me, I ain’t been outdoors yet. Here you are son.  “

            But the youth showed his disappointment at the copper hae-penny, to the elderly Judge’s openly expressed amusement.

            “  I can’t support you son, already got a wife and family. Shoo, shoo! Who died? I ain’t never seen you screw up your face like that before, Paul. “

            “  It’s a letter, a page, from Luke Cole.  ‘Can’t help, sorry. My regards to all, respectfully’.  “

             “  That’s the whole letter? You sure? He spent all that for postage when he could got away with a telegram?  “ 

            Willard reached over the check mated board and shook the envelope dubiously, then held it at arm’s length and squinted to make sure he was reading the cursive writing correctly.

            “  Never was one much for words. You spend decades at a man’s side, have him save your hide on more than one occasion, and you only think that you know him, eh, Paul? What’s so interesting? Oh, them two. “

            “  No. The chalkboard. Gent’s name is being replaced and odds are being laid against us. I never said anything about that, and James Mason’s too young. ’Cuse me, Judge. I got’ta see about this!  “

            “  I’ll come with you. I don’t want to wake Mother until I have too. “

            The way that Eduardo Messinger’s eyes never matched the smile that deepened on his face as Paul forced his way into the crowd surrounding him showed that he’d been expected and his denial already answered, so Paul McWhorter forced his voice to be calmer than what he was feeling on the inside. 

            “  I took my horse out, he’s too old. Why is he back?  “

            “  I spoke with the judges and they assured me that they felt it was un-sportsmanly and ungentlemanly to withdraw your horse just because you knew he couldn’t win, and since the other owners have been promised a two thousand dollar purse, it seemed only right. I’m sure you’ll agree.  “

            He turned away until he felt the claw like grip on his arm, but Paul kept his temper and didn’t speak until the burly man finally had to give up and turn back to him, to allow him to speak.

            “  I never said I wished my entry fee returned. I made a mistake in over-estimating a beloved animal. I don’t wish to put his health at risk. As a horse lover, I’m sure you can see that my real intention was honorable, and the rest was simply a mistake, not libel or slander. “

            “  Strange words coming from a man whose been accused of shooting three men in the back, Marshall McWhorter. Now, if you’ll excuse me!   “

            “  You’re the only one accusing me of that, Sir. May I see your proof since you speak of it as though it was so?  “ 

            The crowd around them became silent and even some of the wives, who were still seated at their assigned tables, stopped chatting between themselves and looked up. 

            “  We’re a long way from Boston.  “

            “  We’re a long way from being finished. You can’t besmirch a man’s reputation and then just turn and nibble on watercress sandwiches like my life and honor are crusts the cook forgot to remove before you ate them. “

            “  It may be common to be so blunt and rude in the West, here’s its just being common, sir. Please remove your hand from my arm or I’ll have it removed!  “

            “  The man’s right, Mr. Messinger.  “  A stranger’s voice said from behind them. “  I’m from Boston and I never heard a whisper against this gentleman’s name, I had to come here for that. I understand that you sold your stallion Pemmican this morning, because he came up lame before the race. Sounds to me like if we’re just going to pull accusations out of the air, I’d have to say you sold him because you knew he didn’t have a chance to win the race. Now that isn’t so, is it, Mr. Messinger?  “

            “  Certainly not, Mr. Van Airedale!  “ 

            “  Then, let’s let this thing drop, the man’s jockey has left town, he doesn’t wish to let a gallant old horse break his heart trying to do something he’s too old to do any more, it was just a misunderstanding. I understand the picnic grounds have just been opened and unless I’m very mistaken, I heard the band readying their instruments. We certainly don’t want to miss the parade, now do we, gentleman?  “

             Eduardo Messinger made sure he was at the head of the phalanx that filed out of the narrow gate, but Paul remained in place, watching after them, feeling a lead weight gather like a stone in his belly.

            “  I’m half the weight of Ricardo, Marshall, and I can hold him back when he gets tired, if’fn he can’t make it, sir. But now you got to let the old gent run or they’ll think you’re a coward!  “   James Mason’s voice said from behind him, as tear filled as his eyes.

            Paul turned around sharply, about to say something in anger, until he saw the moment of waiting on the youth’s face. Then he forced his voice to be calm again, though inwardly, his belly was on fire.

            “  Son, I learned a long time ago not to care what other people say or think about me. They’re going to say what they’re going to say and think what they’re going to think with no help from me. But…  “  He added, as the tall but slight eleven year turned away. “  If you believe in that ole horse that much, and you’re willing to take the consequences, win or lose, then I’m willing to give you a leg up on him when the time comes-if…and I mean if, we can get Miss Abby to agree. “

            The boy’s face began to shine from within.

            “  I’ll go ask her now.  “

            Abigail Briggs’s face was set as hard as a stone as Paul sat down on the end of the wooden picnic bench rather than to try and force his aching knee underneath the table.

            “  Boy already thinks more about horses than he does people, Paul Lee! If he don’t finish school next year, I’m taking it out of your hide! But I said yes, too. Had too, looking at that face. Life takes away our dreams all too soon, but I hope to heaven he don’t win! Just don’t tell the boy I said so.  “

            “  Not while I’m breathing.  “  Paul agreed, in relief. In the time he’d been seated beside the owner owners for the outdoor music recital he began to glimpse had superbly he’d been maneuvered by the smiling Tobacconist and even less sure than ever of the actual connection between Messinger and the two phony owners, simply that it was there-and there’d been a falling out between thieves. Like the race itself, this wasn’t over yet! Not by a long shot!

-   

            A low voiced brass gong, borrowed from the hotel, gathered the crowd on either side of the prancing and plunging steeds scheduled to participate in the second race that day. As keyed as their riders by understanding what being placed in a line across the cobbled portion of the street implied.

            The third heat, with the mares, who would be racing for the first time, would be ten minutes shorter than the first two so much of the discrete side betting was taking place with the people spotted along the wider path, watching to make sure someone else’s jockey didn’t cheat or interfere with their jockey. Patricia Russell appeared to be such a dear and loving friend that Paul had to excuse himself, his emotions already too strong to hide. As he turned to leave the area reserved for owners under the new, stripped canopy, he inadvertently pushed against Pamela Small and calling her ‘sir’ until he saw the thick blonde pony tail hanging down the back of her man’s shirt. It was one of the rare instances when she didn’t smile when she saw him and stop to chat, at least for a moment, her face grim and set like stone.

            “  Have you seen my father, Marshall?   “

            “  He’s over there by the Elm with Mayor Cox and Frank Lincoln.  If you want, I

could go...  “

            “  No!  “  She said sharply, looking daggers at the well-dressed, stocky man who was clearly pretending not to recognize her in male attire, since he was adamant against her participation in the racing of horses to begin with, much less to public display her intent to ride her own made in the third and final heat after the horses were rested.  “  Thank you!  “  

            It was one of the few times in his life that Paul didn’t envy Eduardo Messenger.

            Once the two stallions and five geldings were reassembled at the starting line and the starter’s gun fired, there wasn’t a lot to see through the dust and briefly choked the chill air. Daisy Orville looked whiter than the rice powder she’s put on her face, but she smiled bravely and held to Becka’s hand, as if in friendship, rather than in need of support as they walked to the small tables borrowed from the café. It would be nearly twenty minutes before the horses would be visible at the edge of town again. He was startled by Miss Daisy’s touch on his arm. She wasn’t a touchy-feely kind of person, mot even with her beloved husband.

            “  Willard told me a little. If Luke weren’t so worried about making a go of the ranch I think he’d have told you that it’s a lot like Hamlet’s Daddy’s ghost, when he was talking about his mother, that he didn’t know if the Queen had a part in his death or not? Don’t look so surprised, I can’t read, but Willard reads me what I want to know and hear, and I like Shakespeare. His words are odd because they’re poems but he’s right on the mark when it comes to people in my mind, but like I was saying before I so rudely distracted myself, don’t fret yourself over evil doers! They can seem like they’re getting away with murder, but one day they’ll face a Judge who ain’t going to be fooled, and then they’ll wish they’d only been punished on the earth, you know what I mean?  “

            Paul looked at her, a little puzzled by the mixture of poetry and Scripture, but he sensed what she was trying to say and he forced the edges of his mouth to relax.

            “  Leave her to Heaven.  “

            Daisy nodded sagely, and patted his arm before withdrawing from all physical contact again.

            As the noise of shouting increased, several people left their tables under the striped canopy and returned to the wooden saw horses which had been placed as soon as the horses disappeared from sight lest the crowd push in too close as the animals raced for home. Paul held his breath when he saw the long limbed bay was near the front of the pack, with three horses clearly in the lead and straining for victory, outdistancing the lagers, whose jockeys had reined them back to a slow cantor. Then he almost cheered, seeing the old stallion’s tail arched, as it was when he ran in the paddock for the freedom and joy of it. Unlike the jockey immediately to his left who was using whip and voice furious to lash at his winded mount, James Mason was sitting high on the old horse’s withers, almost standing above the active muscles of the stallion’s back, his face buried in the free flowing mane, his hands still and quiet as Gent’s neck moved up and down with the force of lengthening stride as he ran because he understood what was expected of him and because he could. His ears were flattened against his poll in determination and while the gray was landing flatfooted, running in sheer grit and courage, the old gent still had reserves and he called on them in single-minded determination not to be left behind.

            Then a sudden cry of ‘Oh!’, ‘No!’, and ‘Foul!’ gasped from fifty different throats as the gray’s rider freed his foot from the stirrup and poked the toe of his boot into the notch behind the fully extended leg, causing the Bay to stumble and fall short in stride, groaning in pain, as James Mason flew over his head and had to hang onto the stallion’s thick mane to keep from being trampled; forcing the old horse to a stop in only a matter of steps, his head bent so far forward, the boy had to keep his knees bent to keep from touching the ground!  The roan von Airedale stallion, previously blocked by the gray’s rider, took advantage of the sudden opening and shot ahead, passing under the crepe paper finishing line marker seconds ahead of Fielding gray.

            But as quickly as a monkey regaining its grip on a tree branch several hundred feet above the ground, the boy ran around and remounted without even using the stirrups leaning forward again on the old hose’s neck. He might have been crying but there were so many voices speaking behind Paul that he couldn’t be sure.  Undaunted, the old stallion reared, pawing at the air in his frustration and rage as the gray ran away from him.  Teeth bared, he leaned harder on his sore leg and began to sprint forward as the two horses coming up from the rear almost unseated their riders, seeing a horse just in front of them, as they began to race full out. Gent’s coat, already dark with sweat, began to lather but the roar of the cheering crowd and the thunder of the hooves coming up from behind him gave him a strength that seemed to come from nowhere and he cross the line a full head and shoulders ahead of his laboring competitors, breathing hard as the boy was finally able to calm him, but head raised, eyes alert and ears so far forward they almost touched. As the admiring crowd of men and women closed around him he raised his tail and bulged his challenge to the gray, but the horse was nowhere in sight. By the time he reached the barn to be unsaddled and walked out he was limping on three legs that pained him with each step, but it was clear the old horse was immensely proud of himself, as was his owner and young rider.

            “  I’ve had my fill of racing, Marshall. Do you mind if I stay with the old gent while you go to the ceremonies?  “

            “  I don’t mind at all, son.  I don’t mind at all.  “

            “  We almost won!  “  He said proudly as he raised the damp forelock and rubbed the old horse on the white star in the middle of his forehead.

            There were tears in the aged lawman’s eyes as he turned around and leaned heavily on his cane for support.

            “  What do you mean, almost son? You got back on and finished the race.  “

            James Mason grinned from ear to ear.

            “  Yeah, we did, didn’t we?   “  As if it was the first time the thought had sunk in.

-

            There was a great deal of reserve as the dabber Bostonian stood up to accept the silver plated trophy, then he grinned at Mayor Dickey Cox, causing a stir in the crowd like the angry buzz of hornets until the portly man could regain control of the crowd’s attention with his hand raised and several futile poundings of his gravel on the podium.

            “  Mr. Von Airedale and Mr. Smith have asked me to make an announcement. So let me get on with it, and then we can all rest for the afternoon. They have asked that the Town accept this two thousand dollars as a building fund for the new school house we’ve been wanting to build, since we’ve simply outgrown the old one. I know I have, I can’t sit on the bench I occupied as a student there twenty-five years ago.  “

            A few faint twitters permeated the quiet of shock, then suddenly there was Rebel yell and the thunder of applause as the man in the proper Bowler derby actually managed to blush and look a little shy.

            “  And I’ve taken the liberty to speak to an old and dear friend, Mr. Leonard Kirby, a renown man of science, as modest as the day is long, so I won’t even bother to list all of his credentials and awards, and pending approval of the City Council, we’d like to take the old school house, which is still serviceable, and open our very own Natural Science Museum and Historical Museum to showcase the God given wonders of our beautiful State and to have a place to forever preserve the old diaries, and letters and journals of our forefathers, so generations to come can see and witness first hand what we’ve been privileged to hear from the lips of our seniors, before its lost forever. “

            Though it was clear he had intended to say more, he was drowned out by claps and calls of approval, and being a wise politician he knew when to step back from the spotlight and allow the benefactors to glow.  

            The Judge and Miss Daisy had returned to the hotel for a light supper by the time Paul caught up with them. Her cheeks were spotted bright red from excitement and she seemed not to speak if she didn’t have too, as friends and admirers clustered around them and the two strangers, who were now being called by their first names, and making plans for ‘next year’s race.’ It would have been a happy time for Paul, as the servants from his house, and their families, took up two lengthy tables in equity with the master of the house, were it not for the increased tension between John Russell and Damien Whistler, whose black arm band of mourning seemed a positive magnet to the town’s unmarried ladies with more solitude for his status as a widower, if they had good sense, at least in his opinion, had seemed so provocative. But for now there was little he could do but remain as unobtrusive as possible and watch. So far they’d lost nothing and gained nothing, but he sincerely doubted they’d come this far to break even, or lose! 

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End Chapter 8