The Greatest Works of B. M. Bower - 51 Titles in One Volume (Illustrated Edition). B. M. Bower
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said he was going to use Blazes in the relay. He'd just switch those two, and rope with Sunup, maybe. Anyway, Blazes would have to run, that day.
So he had one horse that day to offset the handicap some one had placed upon him, and because the fast string made trouble in the station for Carlos Baird, the Kid broke even on the race. After that they managed to keep an eye on the horses.
One other thing the Kid did, though he waited until the next day to do it. He rode out for grand entry as before, leaving Billy on guard in the stable with careful orders to watch the grain supply. But before the Kid went, he twisted a small piece of paper under Stardust's halter buckle. His fraternity pin was securely pinned inside, and underneath he carefully printed three words:
"S. A. E. Such Assistance Enchants."
When he went eagerly to Stardust's head after the parade, the paper was gone and the buckle was empty.
"Anybody been here, Billy?" the Kid questioned sharply.
"Nope," Billy told him without meeting his eyes. "A fellow came through just after the band started playing the grand march, but when he saw me he kept right on going. Pretty soon he came back, but he never stopped and he never looked my way. The ponies are okay, Kid. You can bank on that."
The Kid looked at him, nodded and turned away without asking if a girl had also walked that way, petting the horses as she passed. No, he couldn't ask that. Billy would wonder whom the Kid was expecting.
So once more the Kid was in a mental turmoil. Had she got it, all right? He pretended to drop something and searched the bedding of the stall unavailingly. She must have got the note. But why hadn't she left one? The little imp, didn't she know he had her tagged? That pin ought to tell her—If that wasn't just like a girl—leave a fellow in hot water—Darn her, anyway! If she thought he was going to hunt her up she was sad-lee mistaken!
Chapter XXI. Troubles Multiply
Six days of the rodeo—which meant twelve grilling contests—and the Kid was still first place in the relay, second in calf roping, third in bronk riding, doing his trick riding with beautiful precision and ease. The other boys were holding their own and a little better, and the seasoned contestants were watching them sourly, most of them. Former champions were being winnowed out with alarming rapidity, though not from lack of Skill.
"Too many wild parties after the night shows," the Kid diagnosed their troubles succinctly. "The darned saps; they must know they can't hit 'er up all night and get out next day and make any kind of showing. We'll make it, boys. We're going as strong now as we were the second day, and that's because we're taking care of ourselves. You can't get away from it—training shows."
"Well," gloomed Beck, "it oughta show. I wish to heck it could show us a decent meal or a good movie show once in awhile. All the zip there is in this town—and I haven't so much as crawled to the top of one of those two-story busses! If this was old Rome and we were the lions let out every day in the arena to eat a Christian or two and then prodded back to our pens, we'd be having just as hot a time as we are now. I can't say as I blame the boys that step out and see the sights once in awhile."
"Same here," Billy sighed, peppering his eggs until they were black. "If a hen cackles within a mile of me, after this, I know I shall scream."
"Only two more days after this one," the Kid tried to hearten them. "Look at our record, boys! We aren't eating gravel, anyway; that's what some of the old champs have done, and there was no reason on earth for them to cave in like they did to-day. If they'd—"
"Oh, yes! If they'd gone straight to bed, and had their nice mush for breakfast and their nice toast and eggs and one vegetable, maybe—Say, I wouldn't put in another nine days like this for all the cups and belts in the country! It's fine to be a champ, maybe, but it's a darn sight finer to get a little pleasure outa life. Look at me! If I was to break my neck to-day, what have I got outa this last week? Why, I don't know for a fact whether the Loop is a rope or a scenic railway!" Beck pushed back his plate with a gesture of disgust and stood up. "Training rules be damned!" he exclaimed. "There's a bunch going to the Bullpen for a beefsteak supper after the show to-night, and to Rainbow Gardens after that. I'm going along. Team or no team, I'm human!"
"So am I," Billy declared, leaving his highly seasoned dish of boiled eggs to follow Beck's lead. "Better come along, you fellows. It's not going to ruin anybody's life to have one evening off. Let's all go!"
The Kid finished his glass of milk and paid for the four dinners before he made any reply. He turned afterwards and looked out into the street, where flowed a steady, changing river of automobiles hurrying all in one direction—up town where the great electric signs were already winking dimly in the dusk.
"Think you'll lay down your steer in seventeen seconds to-morrow, Beck, as you did this afternoon?" he asked quietly, when an impatient movement beside him recalled him to the present.
"Oh, damn the steers! I can down one quicker with a knife and fork," flashed Beck.
"If you go," said the Kid, "don't wear those shirts."
"Fired off the team, if we go?" Billy asked truculently.
"Darn right! You know that—or you ought to know it."
"Suits me," said Beck stubbornly. "I'm getting fed up, anyway. Too damn many rules. Too damn much hiding out in the dark. I'm growing blue mold on my hide from living in that burrow."
"Same here," cried Billy, not realizing he was Beck's tame echo.
"How about you, Walt?" The Kid swung about, his eyes boring into Walt's face. (Eyes startlingly like Chip's when he was angry, had he only known it.)
"Don't be a boob," growled Walt.
The Kid looked at him and drew a long breath before he turned to the rebels.
"Go get into other shirts then," he snapped. "You're off the team right now and you can't wear team colors. Once you get those shirts off your backs you can go to the devil for all I care. Come on, Walt."
While the two stared after him, palpably regretting already their insurrection, the Kid stalked off and disappeared within the stadium, Walt striding along beside him.
"The West," said Beck finally, "was tamed on meat. You've got to show me where the old trail bosses lived on mush and milk."
"Injun fighting," Billy averred, "was mostly done with good old beefsteaks tucked under their belts." Which was all right for an argument, of course, though it lacked authenticity.
"Well, come on, Bill. Let's go shuck these shirts and get us a square meal. We've got time enough before the show." Beck headed for the gate. "Pie!" he exclaimed ecstatically. "Planked tenderloin and French fried and biscuits—no, waffles and honey—oh, boy!"
"I'm not going to help him in the relay, either," Billy declared, as they made their way to where their suitcases were stowed. "Darned if I will. He can't get hard-boiled with me."
At that very moment Walt was asking the Kid what he was going to do for a second man at the station, and the Kid was telling him he'd do without.
"I'm going to cut out the grand entry too," the Kid went on, planning swiftly, "and I'll sleep with the horses. We can't stand guard the way we've been doing, of course. Maybe I can get Boy to stay with—no, there's Shorty, crippled so he can't ride. I'll hire him to keep an eye on them when we're not around. We'll make out all right, Walt. It's those two boobs that'll suffer."
But the desertion was another stab at his pride, another blow upon a mighty sore spot. It seemed to the Kid that everything he cared for was being snatched from him by untoward circumstance. His quarrel with his folks, further embittered here at the rodeo; the utter estrangement of the Happy Family, and now the disruption of his contest team upon which he had lavished so much time and thought, so many hopes. Even Joella Germain, who had shown a flattering admiration for him