He imitated the ringmaster’s phraseology.
“La-a-a-dies and gen’l’mun, the
price has gone up. The ‘death-defyin’,
dare-devils that laugh at danger’ ain’t
none too ready to ride my hoss. Maybe the price
is too low for ’em. It’s raised.
One thousand dollars—cash—for
any man in hearin’ of me that’ll ride
my pet.”
There was a stir among the cattlemen, but still none
of them moved forward toward the great horse; and
as if he sensed his victory he raised and shook his
ugly head and neighed. A mighty laugh answered
that challenge; this was a sort of “horse-humour”
that great New York could not overlook, and in that
mirth even the big grey man, Drew, joined. The
laughter stopped with an amazing suddenness making
the following silence impressive as when a storm that
has roared and howled about a house falls mute, then
all the dwellers in the house look to one another and
wait for the voice of the thunder. So all of New
York that sat in the long galleries of the Garden
hushed its laughter and looked askance at one another
and waited. The big grey man rose and cursed softly.
For the slender young fellow in evening dress at whom
the stallion had rushed a moment before was stripping
off his coat, his vest, and rolling up the stiff cuffs
of his sleeves. Then he dropped a hand on the
edge of the box, vaulted lightly into the arena, and
walked straight toward the horse.
CHAPTER II
SPORTING CHANCE
It might easily have been made melodramatic by any
hesitation as he approached, but, with a businesslike
directness, he went right up to the men who held the
fighting horse.
He said: “Put a saddle on him, boys, and
I’ll try my hand.”
They could not answer at once, for Werther’s
“pet,” as if he recognized the newcomer,
made a sudden lunge and was brought to a stop only
after he had dragged his sweating handlers around
and around in a small circle. Here Werther himself
came running up, puffing with surprise.
“Son,” he said eagerly, “I’m
not aiming to do you no harm. I was only calling
the bluff of those four-flushers.”
The slender youth finished rolling up his left sleeve
and smiled down at the other.
“Put on the saddle,” he said.
Werther looked at him anxiously; then his eyes brightened
with a solution. He stepped closer and laid a
hand on the other’s arm.
“Son, if you’re broke and want to get
the price of a few squares just say the word and I’ll
fix you. I been busted myself in my own day, but
don’t try your hand with my hoss. He ain’t
just a buckin’ hoss; he’s a man-killer,
lad. I’m tellin’ you straight.
And this floor ain’t so soft as the sawdust
makes it look,” he ended with a grin.
The younger man considered the animal seriously.
“I’m not broke; I’ve simply taken
a fancy to your horse. If you don’t mind,
I’d like to try him out. Seems too bad,
in a way, for a brute like that to put it over on
ten thousand people without getting a run for his
money—a sporting chance, eh?”
