“Oh look, there’s Capp and Wil.”
Capp tipped his Stetson hat and Wil simply nodded to the spectators as the announcer called their names. The backside supporters had difficulty containing their enthusiasm. “Capp, you better take it. My money’s on you,” one yelled. Another added, “Me too. Big bucks. Found a fool betting against you.”
Rex Goude continued: “Wil Wembley is on Bright Penny, and from what I understand, that little pony has been his ride for ten years. Came with him from Kentucky years ago. And next to him is his son Capp, a good horseman himself.” Capp pulled tightly on the reins, keeping Wild from bursting down the track.
As Rex Goude introduced participants one by one, each horse and rider presented themselves with a tip of the hat, a nod, and a wave. But one participant, Miles Moser, took it upon himself to do a show for the crowd. Removing his hat and raising it in the air, he had Scout’s Honor, his mount, rear up and make a 360-degree turn while on his hind legs. Miraculously, Miles Moser stayed in the saddle. The crowd was impressed, cheering loudly. Then Moser yelled, “This horse is gonna win! Ain’t no other horse can beat us!” His confident antics won Miles Moser fans, and they roared their approval.
It was a grand parade, and as the participants rode on in front of the viewing knoll and proceeded to the backstretch, anticipation and excitement grew. Mary, still on horseback, turned and looked up to James. “Folks are already having fun. It’s a great event.”
“Just hope we win it.”
Chapter 44
Match Races at the
Glidewell Ranch
August 8, 1931
As the parade participants reached the saddling paddock, the first four horses to compete, which included Capp on Running Wild and Miles Moser on Scout’s Honor, warmed up on the backstretch. A chalk line was rolled across the track by track officials to assure a fair start. Two draft horses pulled the starting apparatus into position. And as Wil had predicted, gentlemen’s bets were happening all over the grounds.
The first group of four horses finished their warm-up and returned to the saddling paddock to make last-minute adjustments to their tack. Spectators, some with cool drinks from their picnic baskets, went to their folding chairs and blankets. Since Prohibition of alcoholic beverages was still the law of the land, any alcohol was concealed in back pocket flasks. There were large glass water-coolers and Dixie cups conveniently located around the track for the thirsty.
Miles Moser was the first to finish and walked with a confident swagger over to where Capp was preparing Running Wild. “Good luck, kid,” said Moser as he chewed on a toothpick. “My money is on the other guy to beat you. Hope you can handle losing.”
“Excuse me,” said Capp as he moved past Moser. “I got a race to run.” Capp grabbed Wild’s lead. Moser laughed and then, using his teeth, bit the toothpick in two and spit the pieces on the ground. Capp pulled on Wild’s reins, creating a greater distance between himself and the cowpoke that was becoming his nemesis.
Corky, on Devil Doll, brought his bugle to his mouth. As “Boots and Saddles” rang through the air, spectators cheered. Two riders in the paddock mounted their horses. First match race was Capp Wembley on Running Wild against Stel Clemons on Punchin’ Pip, from Burnside Farms, in Strafford.
Capp and Wild trotted to the start line and halted at a three-foot distance from the barrier. Running Wild seemed comfortable at this distance. Capp urged him forward. The horse danced and pulled his head around. Capp turned him sharply to the right and tried to get him in place again. Stel, a well-known horseman, brought Punchin’ Pip, a red quarter horse, expertly up to within a foot of the barrier. Punchin’ Pip appeared calm, while Running Wild continued to move around. Capp backed him up slightly, urged him forward a few steps, and then, finally, both riders were in position. The flag dropped and the barrier was sprung. “And they’re off,” yelled Rex from the announcer’s mic.
Frightened by the ropes vaulting over his head, Running Wild balked and then reared. Capp quickly regained control and urged his horse into a sprint. “Coming to the inside now, it’s Punchin’ Pip in the lead.” Stel and Punchin’ Pip were a half a length ahead on the inside rail. Capp, balanced and strong in the saddle, let his reins loosen, which was Running Wild’s signal to go as fast as he could. It’s a horse’s instinct to be in front, so Running Wild was happy to comply. Stretching long now and gaining on the outside, Wild ran clean. Punchin’ Pip, feeling the pressure of another horse in hot pursuit, kept his head down. “This is a match race, folks. Look at those cow ponies run.” Stel and Punchin’ Pip kept up their speed maintaining a narrow lead. As the finish line was quickly approaching, Capp, losing his Stetson in the process, had Running Wild give it all he had, but to no avail. When the match race of 47 seconds and four furlongs was complete, it was Stel, not Capp, who’d won. “And it’s Punchin’ Pip across the finish line. Burnside Farms has taken it and moves on in the winner’s category. Running Wild fans will have to look for him in the consolation bracket.”
The disappointment of Capp’s poor race was felt hardest by James. Realizing the outcome, he threw his hat on the ground and kicked it in the air. “Damn!” he shouted. “What happened, Wil? Capp’s supposed to win the whole damn thing and he loses in the first race?”
Wil gathered himself. “It’s the rope barrier. Horse is afraid of it. Happens.”
“For God’s sake, he should have worked that horse harder on the start!”
“I think Capp did well to have as good as race as he did. Takes time to get a horse used to that type of barrier. Some never do.”
“Shit. We’re
