Ralph Compton - The Alamosa Trail

“Come on, Chad. You know Thunderbolt can beat him. You raised that horse from a colt. He’s faster than greased lightning.”

“And you’re the best rider there ever was,” Gene said.

“What do you say, Chad? If I can get you a race, will you take him on?”

“We’re going to have to risk some money,” Chad said.

“With you and Thunderbolt there ain’t no risk to it, far as I’m concerned,” Eddie said.

“Yeah, I’m with Eddie. I’m willing to kick in my money,” Ken said.

“It’s all up to you now, little brother,” Hank said. “Shall I get us a race?”

Finally, Chad nodded. “Yeah,” he said. “Get us a race.”

Hank smiled, then turned toward the two conversationalists at the far end of the bar. “Hey, mister!” he called.

“You talking to me?”

“If you’re the one with the fast horse, yes, I’m talking to you.”

“What can I do for you?”

“What would it take to set up a race?”

“You got a horse you think is pretty good, do you?”

“We do.”

“And someone to ride it?”

“My brother here,” Hank said, indicating Chad.

The man at the other end of the bar took a look at Chad, saw that he was considerably smaller than the others around him, then laughed.

“We’re talking a horse race, mister, not ponies. You sure he can handle a full-grown horse?”

“Better than anyone you’ve ever seen,” Hank replied. “Now I’ll just ask you one more time. What would it take to set up a race?”

“All you have to do is put your money where your mouth is,” the owner of Cannonball replied.

Within an hour, word of the impromptu race had spread all over town. Nearly everyone was outside watching, lining both sides of the street. The course was laid out so that the race would start in front of the saloon, go all the way to the far end of the town, then continue on for about another quarter of a mile out of town to a prominent tree at the point where the road made its first turn. The horses would go down as far as the tree, then come back into town, with the finish line being right back where they started, at the saloon. The riders were informed that there would be two men positioned down at the tree to make certain that the riders went far enough. Each rider could pick his own man for that position. Chad chose Ken Keene to represent him.

The boys were so confident that Chad would win that they bet every remaining dollar that they had.

“If Thunderbolt doesn’t win, we’re going to have to kill and eat him,” Hank teased.

Although most of the townspeople were rooting for Cannonball and his owner, Jasper Blake, it turned out that the unbeaten Blake was not a particularly well-liked man. As a result, many in town secretly wanted to see him lose, and a few even bet their heart, rather than their mind. Still, the vast majority of townsfolk didn’t think the new horse actually had a chance to win.

The excitement was at fever pitch as the horses were brought to the starting line.

“Hey, sonny!” someone from the crowd shouted at Chad. “Ain’t that there horse a little big for you? Sure you wouldn’t rather be ridin’ somethin’ more your own size? Like a goat?”

Some around the heckler laughed, and seeing that he had an audience, the heckler shouted several more taunts toward Chad.

Chad stepped in front of his horse and spoke softly in its ear. Thunderbolt whickered, and Chad laughed.

“That horse tell you something funny, did it?” the heckler shouted, and again he was rewarded with laughter.

“He said it was too bad you weren’t in the race,” Chad replied.

“Why’s that?” the heckler asked.

“Because then there’d be two horses and a jackass in the running,” Chad said. This time the crowd laughed at the heckler rather than with him. The heckler sulked off quietly.

Walking back to the saddle, Chad cinched the stirrups very high and tied them off. Blake looked over at him curiously.

“What are you doin’ that for?” Blake asked.

“Just my way of riding,” Chad answered. The others looked at the strangely tied stirrups; some chuckled, but many wondered aloud why he had done it and how he would use them.

Blake mounted his horse easily, but Chad had to get a boost up from his brother because the stirrups were so high. The sight of Chad being hoisted onto the horse’s back brought more snickers from the townspeople.

The sheriff, who had been selected to start the race, raised his pistol. “Get ready!” he shouted.

Chad put his feet in the stirrups, gripped the sides of the horse with his knees, raised his butt up from the saddle, and leaned over the horse’s neck. Everyone soon understood why Chad had adjusted the stirrups as he had. No one had ever seen a rider take such a position before, but many saw immediately that it would give the rider an advantage against the wind.

“Hey, wait a minute,” Blake said, when he saw Chad assume the position. The rest of his comment, however, was cut off when the sheriff pulled the trigger.

The gun exploded, and the two riders burst forward. Immediately after the start Blake veered his horse into Chad, nearly knocking Chad’s horse down. At first Chad thought the bumping was an accident, but Blake did it a second time, making it clear that it was intentional.

Chad pulled his horse away from Blake, which was what Blake was looking for. Blake used the whip on his horse, and Cannonball shot ahead like a bullet. Within an instant Chad and Thunderbolt were a full-length behind.

They were quite some distance from the crowd now, but Chad could hear them shouting and cheering even over the pounding of hooves.

Blake had several advantages. He had a very good horse, and he knew the course. He suddenly veered, aware of a patch of soft ground. Chad rode right through it, and his horse buckled, then nearly went down before it recovered. Now Blake was two lengths ahead.

They reached the tree at the far end of the course, then started back. Now there was no course advantage, because the last half was merely a repeat of what they had already done. Under Chad’s urging, Thunderbolt started to move up with long, rhythmic strides. He was at full speed now, and he easily closed the gap, until they were head to head.

“Back off!” Blake shouted. He reached across and lashed out at Chad with his riding quirt. Chad, seeing it coming, held his own quirt up and fended him off. Cannonball was a very competitive horse, and when he saw Thunderbolt coming up on him, he increased his own pace, refusing to allow Chad to pass. But Thunderbolt was just as game, and a bit faster, and he passed Cannonball, then opened up the lead wider. By the time he reached the finish line, Thunderbolt was four full-lengths ahead.

For a moment the crowd was stunned. Then a few realized that they had bet on the winner, and they began cheering. Chad let Thunderbolt charge through the line, slowing him gradually, until finally he turned him about and brought him back.

“You cheated me, you son of a bitch!” Blake shouted, jumping down from his horse and starting toward Chad.

“Hold on there, Blake. There wasn’t no cheating here,” the sheriff said. “He beat you fair and square.”

“He cheated!” Blake insisted. “You seen how he fixed his stirrups like that. There ain’t nothin’ says you can do that.”

“Far as I know, there ain’t nothin’ says you can’t, neither,” the sheriff replied. “ ’Sides which, he done it before the race even started. You coulda put your stirrups up like that, too, iff’n you’d had a mind to.”

“Yeah, that’s a fact,” one of the townspeople said. “We’re the ones lost some money on this here race and you don’t hear us complainin’, do you? You was beat, Blake, fair and square.”