Chapter XVII

Into the midst of Eleanor's troubled thoughts came the herald, a boy from a neighboring ranch, fantastically attired, who rode on a white pony with fluttering blue ribbons for reins, and blew three sharp blasts on a silver bugle, the signal for the opening of the sports. Eleanor Harrington whispered a few words to Betty, and helped her to slip quietly out of the seat into the aisle, then settled back relieved. She had sent a message to Jean not for anything in the world to tell any one whose flowers she wore, and Jean looked up and smiled brightly across the heads of the people between them, nodding her consent. Betty came back to her seat, pleased to have been the centre of all eyes for a moment, and her mother patted her hand and reflected that, after all, it was wise in Jean not to wear any of her special admirers' flowers, for then they could none of them be angry with her; and if it should come out that she wore Holt's roses a little judicious hint of "gratitude" and "a sense of duty toward one who had saved her life" would only add charm to the lovely character of the girl. As Holt was not present what harm could come of it?

The day's sports went forward briskly. Each feature of the program had been put into separate and capable hands, and each vied with the other to make his or her stunt the best of all. There were children's games, marches and dances. There were folk dances, speeches, contests, and races of all sorts, each highly entertaining in its way; and there was the great picnic dinner when the entire company adjourned to the edge of the woods where tables had been prepared and where the good things of the town had been set forth to tempt the appetite. Everybody was hungry and everybody laughed and talked gaily.

Eleanor had had a vague hope that she might induce Jean to send home at noon for some other flowers on the plea that the ones she wore were faded, but Jean was surrounded by a company of gay young people and there really was no opportunity to speak to her. Harrington, too, who might have taken the matter in hand and convinced Jean of the error of her ways, had been summoned to the grounds to perfect some arrangement for the afternoon, so there was nothing to be done.

When the bugle blew for the afternoon program to begin Harrington was beside his wife, his work done, ready to enjoy the best part of things without any more responsibility. But Eleanor, knowing well his moods, thought it unwise to tell him about the flowers for the present. It was too late now to change, and James would simply be furious; it was best to save that stroke about its being his fault until another time when she needed to convince him of something else.

The children had finished their entertainment in the morning, and the remainder of the program was to be by the men.

When the first set of riders came out in line there was one among their number whom the crowd did not at first recognize; a man with bright, curly hair and fine bearing, dressed in white flannels and riding a jet black, long-limbed horse. Everywhere among the seats could be heard the murmur: "Who is he?" but no one answered.

Harrington raised his field glass and looked; then dropped his hand with an exclamation of dismay. Eleanor, watching her husband's face, reached for the glass, looked a moment, then she too dropped the glass in her lap and gave her attention to controlling her countenance. No one must suspect what a bitter drop in the day's cup of pleasure this was to them.

Harrington sat, grimly reflecting that he might have prevented this possibility if he had framed the entrance qualifications aright; but Holt had been away indefinitely when the tournament was planned and he had not thought of him. Now it was too late to do a thing; and there were reasons that made it unwise for him to show displeasure or unfriendliness to Holt, lest suspicion of a worse character fall upon himself.

For the remainder of the afternoon life to Eleanor Harrington became a matter of self-control. Now and then she managed to glance furtively at her husband and wonder why he hadn't flown into a rage; but she was wise enough to say nothing, knowing that as he did not there must be a reason. Nevertheless she mentally resolved to give her young sister such a piece of her mind on their return home as would not easily be forgotten; and for the first time since the date of Jean's early departure had been set, she was reconciled to it. What made matters so very much worse was that Jasper Holt looked distractingly handsome in those unaccustomed white flannels, wearing them as though he had grown up in them, and sitting his mount like a young god. There wasn't a man of the whole line who seemed so thoroughly a part of his horse as Holt, and every line of his head and body, every controlled, easy movement that he made was beautiful. Of course Jean was taken with his looks. Girls were such fools; that is, girls who had no worldly wisdom.

Up on the grandstand a group of girls looked and exclaimed and whispered eagerly together: "Do you suppose Jean knew all the time he was going to enter? Do you suppose maybe she's in love with him? _Really?_ Wouldn't that be exciting? But of course it couldn't ever amount to anything but a little romance! And she looks so innocent! I don't believe she knew, after all." And so they speculated.

Jean had known him the first moment he appeared upon the scene and her heart stood still, as if this were the moment for which she had waited all her life. He was here, and how splendid he looked! The rough flannel shirt and corduroys in which she was accustomed to see him were becoming, but he fairly took her breath away in his new costume. There wasn't a man among them, no matter what he wore, who could match him for looks. Her heart swelled with joy beneath his roses. This was her little moment to rejoice. To-morrow she was going away, and she might not see him any more, but to-day it was right that she should have this beautiful sight of him to carry away with her. So she watched, her eyes shining and her cheeks glowing warmly.

There was no question at any time but that he was the rider of them all. His horse skimmed the hurdles as though they had been mere imaginary lines, and flew over the highest bar like a swallow in the air. He sat the black creature with ease and grace, and from the start all eyes were following his every move. The crowd forgot for the time its prejudice and animosity, and sat in absorbed admiration of his skill and courage.

They all knew him as a daring rider, for often women held their breath to see him go tearing through the street on some wild beast of a horse whose mad flight seemed uncanny; but the incomparable riding he did now was beyond all he had ever done for them before. They watched and glowed and applauded, and the heart of the girl he loved swelled with pride so that the tears of joy came into her eyes and blinded her from seeing him. She was glad that everyone was watching him, and no one would be looking at her. She did not know that her sister had the field glass focussed straight upon her, and was studying her closely. Alas, for the tears that were so hastily brushed away. Eleanor looked and her heart sank in dismay, poor, troubled lady. She began to rejoice that Jean was going on the morrow; in fact, the afternoon could not come too soon to a close for her now.

The final race, the hardest of them all, intricate and amazing in its plan and wonderful in its working out, in which the obstacles were many and the skill required was great, was at its climax. Holt had kept easily abreast, often ahead of all the others, and the next to the last round was almost finished. People leaned forward in their seats, then rose upon their feet, shouting and cheering and waving their hands. Jean, with the others, leaned over the front rail of the grandstand, in the centre of the judges' bench waving her handkerchief excitedly; the bit of sheer linen slipped from her trembling fingers and fluttered to the ground. Quick as a flash Holt spurred ahead and wheeling in a circle in front of the judges' stand, swinging his body lithely he leaned and picked up the bit of linen from the ground, wheeled shortly again and handed it to its owner. Then he was off like a flash down the track on the last round but a quarter of the way behind the rest, his wonderful advantage lost!

"Oh-hh-hhh!" went up in dismay from a hundred throats; and "Ah-hh-h!" in appreciation. It was a pretty bit of gallantry; a skilful trick of horsemanship, but, oh, the pity of it, to lose the race for a handkerchief! The crowd could hardly forgive him. Who cared about all the rest? They were but secondary now even though he had fallen behind. What madness and folly when the handkerchief could have waited, or was he doing it to be smart? The crowd were angry at their sudden loss, and began to think how just like Jasper Holt it was to trifle with them so, when suddenly they sat up and took notice. Was the race lost after all? Jasper Holt had passed the last two riders and was running neck and neck with the third, and now he passed the fourth from the end. There were but two more to pass. Still, the others were nearly to the three-quarter line, and the foremost was Captain Wetherill with his powerful roan mare. He was riding hard and meant to win. There was a bitter, haughty look upon his face. His triumph would be spoiled by all that gallery play that had preceded it, though it was plain he felt the victory easy now. Would Holt attempt to pass him? It seemed impossible, yet on he came, his black skimming like a swallow on the outside of the ring, gaining, gaining, every second, and the rider with his easy, nonchalant air, sitting as if the winning were a matter of indifference to him. The crowd stood up and shouted now, a deafening din, and Jean stood with them, holding her breath in wonder and excitement. The man who rode second was but a few paces ahead when his horse suddenly swerved outward, staggered and fell, carrying the rider down with him straight in the track of Holt, coming on at his terrible pace.

The shouting hushed in tightening throats as the crowd waited for the terrible catastrophe that seemed inevitable. Then, before they were fully aware of the danger, the black horse had leaped over the sudden obstacle, and was racing neck and neck with the Captain's horse and gaining every step.

Only fifty yards remained to be run.

Breathlessly the crowd stood and watched as the two leaders sped forward. Would he make it? Would it be possible after all the hindrances for mortal rider to compass that?

The Captain was on his mettle now, spurring his horse to its utmost, but still the black kept easily with him. Like two motes in the sunshine set to swim in unison the racers looked to the excited crowd as they skimmed along together.

Jean clutched the rail in front of her, her eyes blinded once more by sudden tears of excitement, her heart thumping wildly till it seemed as if all those about her must hear it.

Suddenly, incredibly, the black seemed to take on new speed!

A gasp from the crowd, a breath of satisfaction, and then through her tears Jean saw the black leap ahead of his rival and clear the line with a lead of fully ten feet!