“Easy boy. That’s it, easy boy.” Capp urged his horse to the starting barrier again. Then he sat up and nodded to the men working the start.
The flag was dropped, the lever pulled, and the ropes flew. It was a good start. Off went horse and rider. Capp could feel Running Wild working, gaining speed. When he crossed the finish line where Will and James stood with their stopwatches, he knew he’d had a good run. He could have run him harder, and would on Saturday, but Capp was sure he would qualify today. He turned his horse and returned to the finish line. Wil and James combined times on their watches and divided by two. Capp had run the four furlongs in a decent time: 48 seconds.
“Good run, Capp. Wild was fine.” James felt a sense of relief.
“Maybe. You see him throw me?”
“I did. You could have four starts this weekend. That a problem?”
“Wild hasn’t ever had four clean starts in a row. That answer your question?”
James reset his stopwatch. “Not the answer I wanted,” said James, as he motioned over the next qualifier.
Pleased with his time, Capp galloped back to the starting barrier to watch the rest of the field run their trials.
Chapter 41
The Contentious Competitor
August 7, 1931
James was up at 5:00 a.m. having had a restless night’s sleep, running all the details through his head over and over again. As he lay awake, he imagined his horses winning all of their match races. He could see his quarter horses, hear them, feel them pounding toward the four-furlong finish. Then he would breathe deeply, trying to calm his excitement.
After dressing and a quick breakfast, James arrived at the backside, pleased to see that two unfamiliar horse trailers had already arrived. Capp’s job was to check in the participating horses and riders in the parking area. The small barn, as well as an enclosed pasture cleared of Glidewell stock, was made available to all challenger horses. Competitors were settling in. Maizie, with a clipboard, was walking around collecting ten-dollar entry fees from all the participants. Sugar, in a blue floral-print headwrap, was greeting everyone and suggesting they head to the mess hall for complimentary coffee and rolls. The scene warmed James. All was in working order, at least for now.
At mid-morning a confident-looking cowboy climbed from his beat-up Ford pickup and horse trailer. He looked strong enough, fast enough, and brave enough to wrestle a mad steer. Maizie approached him and said, “Excuse me, sir. You here to race?”
“I’m here to race and win, sweetheart,” he said without looking at her.
“Did you check in with Capp?”
He turned and looked at Maizie. Tipping his head in Capp’s direction he said, “Checked in with that wrangler.”
“Good. I’m here to collect your entry fee.”
“No need. I already paid.”
“Who’d you pay?”
“The ol’ man at the gate.”
“He’s not collecting money.”
“Is that so? Think they’d do better havin’ a man collect. Look, sweetheart, I usually get in for free to these farm events. You want me here. I’m the best. Now get along.”
“So you didn’t pay Ol’ Jon?”
“That’s right, honey. As it should be. I’m a star.”
Maizie stepped back and allowed the cowboy to go. Then she turned and approached Capp, who was discussing practice times with another rider. “Excuse me, Capp, that man over there by the green horse trailer wouldn’t pay me.”
“Really?”
“Yes, he refused. He said he always gets in free. Don’t think he liked taking orders from me.”
“I’ll take care of it right now.” Capp didn’t waste any time and jogged over to where the man was finishing putting on his horse’s tack and saddle. “You owe us ten bucks or you ain’t working on our track.” The man turned to face Capp and a surly look came over his face. “I ain’t payin’. Seems you need me here. My horse is the only real horse I see. You should be payin’ me to run.”
“Ten dollars or you don’t ride; you don’t bed down; and you don’t eat. Plain and simple.”
“Seems a high price to pay for a nothin’ race.”
“If that’s how you feel, leave.”
“I already spent money getting’ here. Think I’d leave just because you’re tellin’ me?”
“Yep, that’s what I think or I’ll throw your ass out of here myself, if you don’t pay.” The man spit on the ground and then took another pinch of chewing tobacco from his tin. He hesitated while Capp stood his ground. Reaching into his pocket the stranger pulled out a ten-dollar bill and handed it to Capp.
“I’m gonna win this tournament, kid.”
“We’ll see about that.”
“I’m Miles Moser. You probably heard of me. Nobody can beat me.”
“I can beat you. I got me a quarter horse that keeps pounding until he crosses the finish… first,” said Capp.
“I doubt it. You look green. Bet your horse is too. Why, I don’t think you or this horse will make it past the first day.” He laughed.
“You are full of bull. Never heard a bigger braggart in my life,” said Capp.
“I ain’t bragging. I make a living doing match races with fools like you.”
“Never heard of no Miles Moser. Guess time will tell, and by the way, we don’t like you chewin’ and spittin’ in the public areas. Ain’t polite for our lady guests.”
“You kidding? You got my ten bucks and now you’re tellin’ me I can’t spit?”
“That’s right,” said Capp, walking back to Maizie. “Here’s his money.”
“Thanks, Capp. What’s his name?”
“Moser. Miles Moser. Thinks he’s a hotshot. Boy, I’d love a chance to take him on.”
After collecting money from all the participants, Maizie hurried back to the ranch house to get ready for dinner. It had already been a long day, made longer still by an evening meal yet to come, with all of Mary and James’s guests in attendance. Gideon Rust, an editor from the Springfield Leader, and Harry D. Durst, the mayor of
