As James, Wil, and Capp climbed the stairs to the club, they were surprised to see George Coombs talking with a group of people near the entrance. When George, looking beat and drawn, saw the Glidewell team he excused himself and came over to James and the others. James extended his hand and placed it on George’s upper arm. “May we offer our sympathies, George. The early morning’s events have shaken us deeply.”
“James, I’m sorry you all were entangled in this. Matilda is my girl, but I feared something like this would happen. She’s not herself.”
“How’s she doing?”
“She took a hoof to her head.”
“Do you know what happened?” James asked, one concerned father to another.
“Apparently Tilly went drinking last night. Her friends said she was drunk and rambling on and on about a big surprise she was planning for someone.”
“Well, she succeeded in surprising us all,” said James.
“Why she thought she could sneak into the barn is beyond me,” said Wil. “She had no business being there.” Capp remained quiet, allowing the others to do the talking.
“I know. I came here to talk with you. I’m so ashamed that she did what she did. She wasn’t thinking.”
James let George continue. “It’s been rough. Losing the farm the way we did. We hung on for so long. Our son says my wife and Matilda can come live with them. That way I can stay here and manage the backside; live in a bunkhouse. It’s all such a hard thing. I think losing the farm affected Matilda more than any of us.”
“George, I’m sorry,” James patted George’s shoulder. “Will Matilda be all right?”
“We don’t know. Her face is in bad shape. My heart breaks for her. She’s my only girl.”
“I know, George. I have a daughter, too.”
“You do? Then you do know…”
“I can imagine. I’m sorry.” George looked at James with gratitude and reached to shake his hand. “We have to go now, George. My wife and daughter are here somewhere looking for us.” With a nod, the three men moved away from George, leaving him alone in his grief.
Before they could find Maizie and Mary for lunch, a reporter approached James. It was a quick interview, just corroborating parts of the story the journalist had heard from others. “Will be interesting to see how your horse does today. He had a wild night. Things pretty stacked against you. Heard about your jockey.”
“We are venturing forward. We have a great horse. You’ll see it. Watch him. He loves a crowd and will put on a show. The horse has heart.”
“Glory Be, right? Looks like he’s gone from being a favorite to a long shot. You mad about that?”
“No, not at all. I’m learning that’s horse racing.”
“Heard someone tried to kill him in his stable last night. What can you tell me about that?”
“You’ll have to ask the police. Now if you’ll excuse us, we are meeting my family.” The disappointed reporter tipped his hat, said thanks, and went on his way.
The crowd, dressed in rain gear, was standing in the clubhouse shoulder to shoulder. Heavy rain was falling and the track was growing sloppy. All were hoping for a rain reprieve before the big race. The name Glidewell was on everyone’s lips. Stories were flying around the room. If people didn’t know the facts, they just made them up. Folks were overheard whispering Tilly’s name.
“Can you imagine killing a great horse?” said one.
“Who was the person?” asked another.
“Matilda Coombs. Her father runs the backside.”
“You’re kidding! Well, I’ll be. Now this is quite the rumor.”
“Ain’t no rumor.”
After lunch, Wil and Capp returned to the barn for last-minute preparations. They found Tommy with Glory Be, talking to him softly and stroking his neck, the horse nickering notes of love. The call sounded and Tommy and Capp took Glory Be, wearing an orange Glidewell Ranch blanket, from the barn to the saddling area. Capp was holding the lead, Tommy occasionally patting the horse with his good arm.
Eddie, dressed in the Glidewell colors of blue and orange, came from the weighing station with his saddle. The jockey appeared serious and self-assured, ready for his ride in the mud. Capp took the saddle and put all the gear on the stallion himself, making sure saddle pad, buckles, straps, halter, and bit were secure and properly placed. Wil, Tommy, and Eddie watched silently as the saddling progressed. All were nervous with anticipation, but no one showed it. They stood together like a well-seasoned, experienced team. They knew Glory Be would do what he could. He would do his best. They hoped the mud calks would keep him steady at the start and help him pull hard in the turns.
When the announcer yelled “Riders up,” Capp gave Eddie a leg up, and the jockey swung his free leg over the horse’s back. Adjustments were made to the gear. Eddie tested his stand in the stirrups, and when the gear was perfect, Capp stepped aside. Eddie looked good up there, confident and poised. He tipped his orange jockey’s cap to the team. “I’ll do my best to help Glory Be make a name for himself,” he said. Capp and Tommy, worried as they were, mustered quiet smiles and slapped Glory on the rump.
The bugler assumed his position and played “Boots and Saddles.” The field of twenty beautiful thoroughbred horses strutted out of the saddling area, their post positions pinned to their saddle blankets. When the bugler
