And passed in fifty years. Badger Clark
“Hey! get up there! you fellers!” yelled Jim as he yanked the blankets off Rodeo Jack and Celluloid Bill. “You ain’t goin’ sleep all day when Fourth of July comes but once a year?”
Rodeo stretched, and yawned sleepily as he got from his bunk, growling:
“Durn it! didn’t know ’twas so late. Sun shinin’ a ready an’ cayuses not out for final trainin’. Wough!”
Hurrying on his clothes, he glanced around to see Bill with head covered—evidently to shut out the sunlight—with no effort at rising. Banging him hard with a pillow, he screeched:
“Get up here, feller! Yo’ can’t ’spect our hosses to win in no races today if yo’ don’t hustle an’ give ’em some little exercisin’.”
“Gee whiz! Can’t yo’ let a feller sleep?” mumbled Bill drowsily. “To th’ loco with th’ hosses! They’ll win anyhow in the buckaroo ’formances. Yo’ may bet yo’ hat on that fac’.”
Jim and Rodeo were busy at the wash stand, furnished with a single tin basin, a towel of uncertain color and a broken mirror; the frame retaining but a small portion of the original glass. As Bill donned his clothing, he caught sight of Bob still in his bunk, and turned to his tormentors with the plaint:
“Say! yo’ fellers! Yo’ yanked me out an’ yo’ don’t get Bob up. I see where I ain’t got no friends. Get up there, Bob! I won’t let no galoot snooze while I have to train hosses this time o’ mornin’, even ’tis Fourth of July.”
With this, Bill rose from the side of his bunk with only one boot on. He strode across to Silent Bob and tore the covers away. The Southerner moaned in his slow voice:
“Aw! gwan! I hater have my mo’nin’ nap split for a little thin’ as a Fo’th o’ July cel’bration; I hater come home ter night drunk an’ sleep with my spurs on.”
“Yes;” rejoined Jim, “if the Kootenais don’t win ’em from you at monte; or you don’t loose ’em a scratchin’ them there broncs in the big doin’s today. They’re goin’ have some Fourth this year. Printed bills big ’nough to cover your bunk. Prizes for the best bronc twister; the ladies’ and squaw races and a great Injun war dance. Gee! boys! Let’s hurry and get things sailin’. Must win some money from them there swell city chaps. I’m goin’ to the barn and rub Diamond down. Sis will ride him in a try this mornin’. Wants to get ’quainted with him before handlin’ him in the races this afternoon. She must win! and she ain’t the one that can’t do it, either.”
Jim hurried to the barn and was surprised to find Cogewea already there, waiting for him. He had supposed that she was not yet up. Procuring a bottle of Indian herb-liniment, he proceeded to bathe with brisk rubbing, the legs of Diamond; a racer widely known as the “Bay Devil.” He had been bought by Carter on a recent trip to the Bitter Root country, and at a very fancy price. The horse was not used to “wimin folks,” as Jim expressed it, and at Cogewea’s approach, he arched his neck, his eyes dilating with excitement. She petted him, but it was not for the first time. She had attempted being friendly with him on several occasions and was succeeding slowly. He was still nervous and showed impatience at the rustling of her skirt.
The mettlesome Bay trembled as Jim placed Cogewea’s saddle on his back and brought him into the open. He held the bit while the girl lightly mounted, then sprang to one side as the fiery steed reared and was off like an arrow. Without the aid of stirrup, the lithe Westerner sprang to his own saddle and was away after the flying racer. He did not come up with Cogewea, till she reined in at the head of the gulch, ready for the trial dash over the temporary training track. The great Bay knew! He was pawing the ground restlessly; champing at the restraining bit. Jim gazed at the picturesque rider admiringly. The black tresses reaching far down her back, undulated in billowy waves as her steed pranced and cavorted from side to side. Her cheeks were ruddy from the morning air, her eyes brilliant and sparkling.
“Well, when are we going to get started?” she exclaimed impatiently. “What are you looking at me for? I’m not the boss!”
“Now Sis, don’t be so mean! I’m just a wonderin’ what a looker you are with them there fine cheeks this mornin’.”
“Aw! come off your perch! Quit kiddin’! Let’s hurry! I have so much to get ready before we start for town.”
“Alright! You run the Devil for all he’s got and we’ll see how far he beats the White Star. But the Star is a plumb good cayuse and believe me, he moves like a shootin’ sky-meteor.”
“You signal when we are to go. Easy! easy! there old boy,” patting a velvety shoulder. “Save your strength for the flying course.”
The Bay was reeking with perspiration; while the White Star closely watched his mate. The grey seemed to understand that he was being matched against a foe worthy of his metal. Bringing the steeds abreast Jim warned:
“All ready! Go!”
Cogewea scarce heard the command, as the horses leaped away. A less expert rider would have been hurled from her saddle. Out the smooth track the racers stretched themselves. Objects along the wayside seemed to swing by at an astonishing speed. The road was a gliding ribbon of earth. Cogewea’s Indian love for exciting sport was augmented when she felt the hot breath of the grey at her stirrup. The quirt hanging at her saddle bow was now brought into use and at the sting of the lash, the Bay Devil forged ahead. Again the nose of the Star began to lap the middle of the Bay, and again was the whip made use of. But all too late! The goal was passed without any
