The Bishop of Cottontown Part 59

It sounded like a gun-shot in the old man's ears. There was a whirr of wheels, a patter of feet grappling with dirt and throwing it all over him--another whirr and flutter and buzz as of a covey flushed, and the field was off, leaving him trailing.

"Whew, Ben Butler, we're in fur it now--the Lord 'a-mussy on our souls! Take the pole--s'artenly,--it's all yowin, since you're behin'! Steady ole hoss, there's one consolation,--they're breakin'

the wind for you, an' thank G.o.d!--yes Ben Butler, look! they're after one other,--they're racin' like Tam O'Shanter an' cookin' each other to a gnat's heel--Oh, Lord what fools! It'll tell on 'em--if we can only save our distance--this heat--jes' save our distance--Wh-o-p, sah! Oh, my Lord, told you so--Troup's mare's up an' dancin' like a swamp rabbit by moonlight. Who-op, sah, steady ole hoss--there now we've pa.s.sed him--Trombine and Lizette ahead--steady--let 'em go, big devil, little devil, an' pumpin' each other--Go now, go old hoss, now's the time to save our distance--go old hoss, step lively now--'tain't no meetin', no Sunday School--it's life, bread and a chance for Cap'n Tom! Oh, but you ain't forgot entirely, no-no,--ain't forgot that you come in answer to prayer, ain't forgot that half in one-one, ain't forgot yo' pious raisin', yo' pedigree.

Ain't forgot you're racin' for humanity an' a chance, ain't forgot--there! the flag--my G.o.d and safe!"

He had pa.s.sed the flag. Lizzette and Trombine were already at the wire, but poor Troup--his mare had never been able to settle after her wild break, and she caught the flag square in the face.

The crowd met the old pacer with a yell of delight. He had not been shut out--marvel of marvels!

It was getting interesting indeed.

Bud and Jack met him with water and a blanket. How proud they were!

But the heavy old cart had told on Ben Butler. He panted like a hound, he staggered and was distressed.

"He'll get over that," said the old driver cheerily to Bud's tearful gaze--"he ain't used to it yet--ten years, think of it," and Jack led Ben Butler blanketed away.

The old man looked at the summary the judges had hung up. It was:

_1st Heat:_ _Trumps, 1st_; _Lizzette, 2nd_; _Ben Butler, 3rd_; _Trombine distanced._ _Time_, 2:17-1/2.

Then he heard a man swearing elegantly. It was Col. Troup. He was sitting in his sulky in front of the grand stand and talking to Travis and the genial Flecker:

"A most unprofessional thing, gentlemen,--d.a.m.ned unprofessional, sah, to shut me out. Yes, sah, to shut out a gentleman, sah, an' the first heat, sah, with his horse on a break."

"What!" said Flecker excitedly--"you, Col'nel? Shut out--why, I thought it was the old pacer."

"I swear I did, too, Colonel," said Travis apologetically. "I heard something rattling and galloping along--I thought it was the old pacer and I drove like the devil to shut him out!"

"It was me, sah, me! d.a.m.ned unprofessional, sah; my mare throwed a boot!"

He walked around and swore for ten minutes. Then he quieted down and began to think. He was shut out--his money was gone. But--"By gad, sah," he said cracking his whip--"By gad I'll do it!"

Ten minutes later as Ben Butler, cooled and calm, was being led out for the second heat, Col. Troup puffed boisterously up to the Bishop: "Old man, by gad, sah, I want you to use my sulky and harness. It's a hundred pounds lighter than that old ox-cart you've got. I'm goin' to he'p you, sah, beat that pair of short dogs that shets out a gentleman with his horse on a break, sah!"

And that was how the old man drew first blood and came out in a new sulky and harness.

How proud Ben Butler seemed to feel! How much lighter and how smoothly it ran!

They got the word at the first score, Trumps and Lizzette going at it hammer and tongs--Ben Butler, as usual, trailing.

The old man sat pale and ashy, but driving like the born reinsman that he was.

"Steady, old hoss, steady agin'--jes' save our distance, that's all--they've done forgot us--done forgot us--don't know we're here.

They'll burn up each other an' then, oh, Ben Butler, G.o.d he'p us!

Cap'n Tom, Cap'n Tom an' s.h.i.+loh! Steady, whoa there!--Lord, how you're lar'nin'! How the old clip is comin' agin! Ho--hi--there ole hoss--here we are--what a bresh of speed he's got--hi--ho!"

And the grand-stand was cheering again, and as the old man rode up the judges hung out:

_2nd Heat:_ _Trumps, 1st_; _Lizzette, 2nd_; _Ben Butler, 3rd._ _Time_, 2:15-1/2.

The old man looked at it in wonder: "Two fifteen an' not shet out, Ben Butler? Only five lengths behind? My G.o.d, can we make it--can we make it?"

His heart beat wildly. For the first time he began to hope.

Trumps now had two heats. As the race was best three out of five, one more heat meant that Flecker of Tennessee would win the race and the purse. But when the old man glanced at Trumps, his experienced eye told him the gallant gelding was all out--he was distressed greatly--in a paroxyism of thumps. He glanced at Lizzette. She was breathing freely and was fresh. His heart fell.

"Trumps is done fur, Ben Butler, but Lizzette--what will Travis do?--Ah, ole hoss, we're up ag'in it!"

It was too true, as the next heat proved. Away Trumps and Lizzette went, forgetful of all else, while the old man trailed behind, talking to, soothing, coaxing the old horse and driving him as only a master could.

"They're at it ag'in--ole hoss, what fools! Whoa--steady there!

Trumps is done fur, an' you'll see--No sand left in his crops, cooked--watch an' see, oh, my, Ben Butler--there--he's up now--up an'

done fur--Go now--move some--hi--"

Trumps and Lizzette had raced it out to the head of the stretch. But Trumps was not equal to the clip which Travis had made cyclonic, knowing the horse was sadly distressed. Trumps stood it as long as flesh and blood could, and then jumped into the air, in a heart-broken, tired break. It was then that the old man began to drive, and moving like well-balanced machinery, the old pacer caught again the spirit of his youth, as the old time speed came back, and leaving Trumps behind he even b.u.t.ted his bull-dog nose into the seat of Lizzette's sulky, and clung determinedly there, right up to the wire, beaten only by a length.

Lizzette had won the heat. The judge hung out:

_3rd Heat:_ _Lizzette, 1st_; _Ben Butler, 2nd_; _Trumps distanced._ _Time_, 2:20.

Lizzette had won, but the crowd had begun to see.

"The old pacer--the old pacer!"--they yelled.

Travis bit his lip--"what did it all mean? He had won the heat.

Trumps was shut out, and there they were yelling for the old pacer!"

The Bishop was pale to the roots of his hair when he got out of the sulky.

"Great hoss! great! great!" yelled Bud as he trotted along bringing the blanket.

The old man bowed his head in the sulky-seat, a moment, amid the crash of the band and the noise of the crowd:

"Dear G.o.d--my Father--I thank Thee. Not for me--not for Ben Butler--but for life--life--for s.h.i.+loh--and Cap'n Tom. Help us--old and blind--help us! O G.o.d--"

Col. Troup grasped his hand. The Tennesseans, followers of Flecker, flocked around him. Flecker, too, was there--chagrined, maddened--he too had joined his forces with the old Bishop.

"Great Scott, old man, how you do drive! We've hedged on you--me and the Colonel--we've put up a thousand each that you'll win. We've cooked ourselves good and hard. Now drive from h.e.l.l to breakfast next heat, and Travis is yo' meat! Fools that we were! We've cut each other to pieces like a pair of cats tied by the tails. Travis is at your mercy."

"Yes, sah, Flecker is right. Travis is yo' meat, sah," said the Colonel, solemnly.

The old man walked around with his lips moving silently, and a great pulsing, bursting, gripping pain in his heart--a pain which was half a hope and half despair.

The crowd was on tip-toe. Never before had such a race been paced in the Tennessee Valley. Could he take the next heat from Lizzette? If he could, he had her at his mercy.

Grimly they scored down. Travis sullen that he had to fight the old pacer, but confident of shutting him out this time. Confident and maddened. The old man, as was his wont in great emergencies, had put a bullet in his mouth to clinch his teeth on. He had learned it from Col. Jeremiah Travis, who said Jackson did it when he killed d.i.c.kinson, and at Tallapoosa, and at New Orleans.

"GO!"