By now James and Wil had taken the few steps to the scene of Maizie’s fall and Philippe and Leon had run in from the kitchen. “Mon Dieu!” shouted Philippe. “Maizeee, mon amie, es tu blessé?” cried Leon. The two took Maizie by her elbows and supported her, her feet barely touching the ground as they walked her back to the kitchen.
Capp knelt and picked up the scattered debris, placing it on the fallen tray. When he was finished, he carried the tray into the kitchen.
“Merci,” Philippe said. Maizie, her hands shaking and her cheeks flushed, had already begun to fill another tray.
“I’d be happy to exchange this tray for that one,” Capp said, looking directly at Maizie.
“Thank you, probably best you do it,” Maizie said. “Don’t think I’m cut out for waitin’ on fancy folks.”
“What’s your name?”
“I’m Maizie.”
“I’m Capp and I sure ain’t fancy folk,” he said, laughing.
Maizie said nothing while Leon finished the tray. Capp returned to the parlor with the tray in hand and found Wil and James working on their second whiskey.
“This is good whiskey, James. Where’d you get it?”
“Found a new distiller back in the hills. He delivers off and on. This Prohibition makes it tough to get good stuff.”
“Well, ain’t nothing wrong with this,” said Wil as he took a big swallow. Wanting to get the business portion of the evening started, he added, “James, our breeding stock is producing fine quarter horses. I think we are missing an opportunity here.”
“That so?” said James.
“There’s a couple of things. We are training some of our faster horses on the track. They are sprinters. Love to fight for the lead. But we need to do more.”
Capp caught the end of Wil’s remarks. “Yes sir, Dad’s been talkin’ about this since winter. Mighty fine idea. Fun too.” Capp set down the tray, took his seat and reached for a piece of cheese.
“Well, I’m eager to hear it, Capp.” James, like a man of his class, sipped on his whiskey.
“We need to get our horses, the ones we’ve trained, to have match races. Invite neighbors to come watch, have them bring their fast cow ponies, and challenge a Glidewell horse. Nothin’ as excitin’ as match races. Nothin’ too serious, just fun.”
“Can’t do it. Gambling isn’t allowed.” James put his whiskey glass down. “I could get in a lot of trouble.”
“Not talkin’ about gambling, talkin’ about racing. Get more use out of the track,” said Wil.
“People won’t come if there’s no gambling. Been to horse races. Exciting for sure, but people come for the betting,” said James.
“Look, I’ve been around horses and cowpokes all my life. There ain’t been one time a match race wasn’t bet on. Men can’t help it. You don’t need to set it up. It’ll just happen. Can’t be illegal if you don’t know about it, James,” said Wil. “Betting between gentlemen.”
Capp, in his excitement, stomped his boot on the hardwood floor and pointed in James’s direction. “That’s right! We got ourselves five two-year-olds in the barn right now that no cow pony could beat. Running Wild is one of them. We think people will be wanting quarter horses from our stock when they see them run. Some folks still in the money. We got some fine riders too, stable hands, little guys, who are itchin’ to run these horses. Good for Glidewell Ranch, good for the horses, the riders, fun for all.”
“There is somethin’ else too,” said Wil, leaning his elbows on his thighs. “With people watchin’ our horses run, horse farms will want their broodmares to spend time here at the ranch with our stallions. Improve their stock. I’m sure of it. We could double or triple our stud-fee revenues.” He finished his second whiskey. “We can set up races between fillies, stallions, and geldings, all quarter horses. Ain’t nothing not possible. We can write the rules. Have nothin’ to do with bettin’.”
“We could put up one sign that says, ‘No betting,’” said Capp as he hastily reached for the whiskey decanter. “Just one sign. Not too visible, but on the property. No one will pay no mind to the sign. Never have.”
“Let me give it some thought. Nothing more exciting to me than a horse race. The sight of horse and rider is inspirational. And the sound of horses galloping and men hollering is exhilarating.” James nodded thoughtfully. “I’ll come down to the backside one day this week and you can run the quarter horses you are talking about.”
“Come down Wednesday for the morning workout. I’m telling you that some of our horses love to run, and they don’t like coming in second,” said Wil.
“I’ll talk it over with Mary. She might like the idea. She’s good at event planning. I figure it would be a weekend of races. We will have dinner parties here at the ranch for our friends. Mary and I have been wanting to have an open house anyway. No harm to having a few drinks too. Mary and I have quite a cellar full of libations, all legal. We bought it before the law was enacted. Not against the law to drink it. Just against the law to make and sell it.”
“That’s right. Guess the folks with money stockpiled and hoped prohibition would be short lived. Been a dang decade or so already,” said Wil, his whiskey glass in hand, knowing full well if but for James’ cache he would be drinking cheap moonshine like most Americans.
Capp’s excitement was evident as he bounced his knee in an effort to absorb the electricity he was feeling. “Dad was afraid you wouldn’t see it his way. But I told him that every man wants to race horses. It’s the winning that men need. Feels good. Your weekend idea sounds good, Mr. Glidewell.”
“I want our ranch to
