“The first event will be the semifinal run in the consolation bracket. Capp Wembley on Running Wild from Glidewell will be racing first against Frank McFar on Filly Flame from Buffalo, Missouri. The two contenders will be approaching the starting barrier soon,” Rex Goude announced.
Capp tried to stay focused during his warm-up. He ran his horse easy along the backstretch. His mind kept returning to yesterday’s disappointment. If only he had taken more time to consider the barrier problem… but there would be no do-overs. Capp settled in, patting his stallion on the neck. “Easy, boy. You’re doing good. We have learned a lot from pretty Miss Ma-til-da,” he whispered in Wild’s ear. Capp sat ready in the saddle. When the flag fell and the starting mechanism was sprung, Running Wild burst forward without a hitch.
Rex Goude cleared his throat and yelled into the loudspeaker, “They’re off!”
It was a good start. The horses were head-to-head in the beginning, but that quickly changed. For the first two furlongs Filly Flame stayed within a half head of Running Wild, but that was as close as she would get. Running Wild began to stretch long and pull hard.
“Looks like it’s going to be the Glidewell Ranch taking this one.” Running Wild won by two lengths as the backside fans cheered loudly. Capp removed his Stetson and continued around the track slowing as he approached the final turn. It was a satisfying victory. Capp would have a chance to compete for the winner in the consolation bracket. Better than nothing. He hoped James could see that he was in the running; he was giving it his all.
Wil, Mary, James, and Maizie were at the finish line, standing abreast at the rail.
“He did it, Wil. Wild was a different horse today,” said James, slapping Wil on his back.
“Those blinders were a great solution.”
“Where did Capp learn that?” asked James.
“Not sure I know. We’ve never used them on our quarter horses.”
“Maizie, aren’t you happy to see Capp win?” Mary asked. “He’ll be in the finals.” Maizie had her back turned and was scanning the knoll. A reflection from a flask caught her eye. The person holding the flask was Capp’s guest from the night before, Matilda. The young woman appeared to be with a man. A feeling of relief washed over Maizie. Maybe that man was the boyfriend she was talking about.
“Maizie? Aren’t you happy? Capp won!” exclaimed Mary trying to lure the young girl into a pleasant conversation.
The look on Maizie’s face was hardly one of joy. She turned to face Mary and said, “Capp wanted more. Wouldn’t you? He wanted to win the winners’ draw. He wanted to make James proud.”
“I think James is proud,” Mary said. “Aren’t you, James?”
“I wish he’d done better yesterday. But yes, I am proud of his win today.”
On the knoll sat Matilda, slowly sipping on a flask full of gin. Her brother, next to her, was on his feet observing the horses and riders around the track. “Great race, sis. You see that?”
“Oh yeh, sure. The winner is a friend of mine. He has a lot to learn about racing.”
“Is that so?”
“Yep, I’m goin’ to teach him how to win.” She looked up at her brother and smiled while handing him her flask. “Small world. I met him a while back.”
“Nice lookin’ rider. Where’d you meet him?”
“At the horse auction—we hit it off.”
“So is that why you talked me into coming to these match races?”
Matilda smirked and said, “Maybe.”
“Don’t matter. I have had a great time. Seems your friend is a good rider already.”
“He has a long way to go, I’m thinkin’. Course you never were much of a horse person.”
Matilda’s brother shrugged. “Looked good to me.”
As she looked up at her brother, she laughed, tinged with ridicule.
The winner of the next match race would be Capp’s challenger in the consolation bracket: either Hilman Smith on Cinder Dick or Chuck Lowell on Red Sundown. These competitors knew each other well as they hailed from the area known as Cedar Creek. The two men were contentious rivals, a grudge match.
As the two stallions and riders jogged to the starting line, spectators could hear the men cussing as they got into position. Their unfriendly and mean-spirited sparring was of great interest to the crowd. As the two competitors continued their jawing, the flag was dropped. It was a good start, a close race but Chuck Lowell on Red Sundown took it. Hilman Smith angrily rode his horse hard back to the saddling paddock, yelling expletives as he did. Capp would be taking on Chuck Lowell riding Red Sundown in the final heat of the consolation bracket.
Rex Goude, the announcer, stepped up to the microphone. “Coming up now, folks, are the two semi-final match races in the winners’ bracket.”
James and Wil had assumed their position on the rail near the finish line. “Like I said, James. You never know in racing,” said Wil.
“You know, Wil, I was impressed with the way Capp found a solution to his start problem. Just wish he’d done it sooner.”
“The kid has smarts. When he’s motivated, he’ll do what he needs to do. And he won’t cheat none either.”
Rex Goude yelled into his mic, “This is an interesting one, folks: two Glidewell fillies competing head-to-head. Only one can make it to the finals. Corky Wright on Devil Doll against Tommy O’Rourke on Belle Brodie. Those Glidewell horses are beautiful and those orange blankets are easy to see.” Corky kept leaning over and patting Doll’s neck. She pranced proudly to the starting line. Doll was a beauty, her white coat gleaming. Belle Brodie was smaller than Doll but a fast sprinter. Many backside betters had their money on Doll; James privately placed a five-dollar bet on Belle to win. He had a
