Chapter 67

“Son, that was some race. We heard what Parkman’s jockey said. You did the right thing holding Cheyenne back, then letting him run away with the race after they’d tried to run him down like that. You’d think Sam Parkman would know better by now,” Eli said as he and Joe stood beside Little Eli when their picture was made.

“Did you win big again, Dad?” Little Eli asked, knowing by his smile that he did.

“We all won big on that race. I already have another big bet placed on the last race today. The man who owns the local horse that was supposed to be so good, bet me ten thousand dollars heads up his horse would win. He held him out of this race to run against you and Cheyenne at three o’clock. I’m not sure that he and Parkman didn’t plan this together.”

“You can bet too, that Sam Parkman will have his fresh horse in the next race, and one of them will try again to make Cheyenne run hard early and be too winded to win that last race,” Joe said as they talked over their races.

“Let’s get him back to the stables and cooled down, Eli. Don’t give him a lot of water, just enough to wet his whistle for now, then another short drink about two o’clock. Feed him no more than a double handful of mixed feed and let him have about the same amount of hay you’ve been giving him,” Eli told his son as they walked back to the stables.

The whole bunch from Crow Ridge was walking down the street together. They were still counting their winnings, laughing and already planning their bets for the last race.

They were so excited, none of them wanted to eat before the race at three.

There was a commotion later at the stables when Mr. Parkman became outraged at his jockeys and screamed at all the young boys, especially the jockey who rode in that last race. The Crow bunch just looked over at him as he ranted and showed his ass in front of all who were in the stable.

“You damned fool; you should’ve kept your mouth shut and run the race just as I told you. You had to go and tell that Crow kid what we were doing. You don’t get a dime for riding this weekend! Maybe that will teach you to keep your damn mouth shut and just ride the way you’re told. Now get your ass out of here, you can walk back to Tulsa if you don’t have train fare.”

Just as Sam Parkman started swearing loudly, Eli stepped out and looked his way. The man saw him and turned to walk out of the barn red-faced. He knew better than confront Marshal Crow.

“Eli, take this money out there and find that boy. It wasn’t his fault he was riding the wrong horse today. Tell him if he needs a job, come see me next week,” Eli told Little Eli when the shouting had settled and the jockey Sam Parkman had fired, walked out of the stables.

Little Eli jumped up and grabbed the bills his dad had in his hand and ran for the door. He saw the boy walking down the street with his head down and whistled loudly. When the boy turned around, Little Eli waved to him as he ran to catch up with him.

“We heard what happened back there. Dad wants you to have this. He said if you needed a job, come see him next week,” he told him.

“Why? I mean why are you and your dad doing this? I was trying to beat you by making you run your horse hard so he’d be too winded to run in the last race.”

“What’s your name?”

“Jones is all I ever been called since I was little. I reckon that’s all the name I got. I know yours is Eli, like your dad. I heard everyone calling you that.”

“Jones, you’ve been hanging around with the wrong people. Just come see Dad next week and work for us on Crow Ridge. You’ll be a lot better off and you’ll have an even chance to make good money working for my dad.”

“This is a hundred dollars!” He exclaimed as he looked at the bills in his hand, then up at Little Eli.

“My dad and I don’t like to see anyone get stepped on. Come to Crow Ridge next week and meet with my dad, you’ll see.”

“You’re going to win all four races this weekend, ain’t you? That Paint horse of yours can’t be beat by the horses racing here this weekend. I’m not sure there’s a horse alive that can beat him, the way that horse can run when you holler at him.”

“We’ll win or he’ll fall dead trying, he loves to run that much.”

“I’m going to bet this hundred on a sure thing. I was broke before you gave it to me, I may as well try to win with it. When you win, I’ll have doubled my money. Tell your dad thanks and I’ll see him on Monday.”

“Before you place your bet, find my brother Ezra. He’ll help you get the best bet and the best odds for your money.”

“Thanks, Eli. I don’t even know what else to say.”

“Thanks is enough. Good luck to you, Jones.”

At two thirty, the riders had the horses on the track, letting them stretch and loosen up. Little Eli held Cheyenne back at first, then let him run a few fast sprints up and down the track to get him excited.

By the time the announcer called the horses to the line, Cheyenne had worked up a slight lather, yet he was still breathing easy.

Without even looking at the other riders or their horses, Little Eli kept his eyes on the man with the starter pistol. He saw him point the short barrel straight up. Eli tightened his knees on Cheyenne’s ribs. He saw the man’s trigger finger begin to squeeze and pulled his reins back to keep Cheyenne’s head up.

The shot was fired and they were off. There were five horses in this race. Two were running their first race of the weekend and Little Eli already knew they were fresh horses. They were both shorter, smaller horses and he remembered what William and his brothers had told him as he let Cheyenne run to the lead and hold a steady pace all the way to the turn.

Just as they raced into the turn he pulled Cheyenne tight to the fence. He’d looked back to see the two smaller horses coming hard, one on the inside, the other on the outside. He held his place on the rail and the inside horse had to swing wide in an effort to pass. By now, they were coming out of the turn and into the straightaway on the backstretch, ready for the race to the finish line.

Holding Cheyenne in check for a few more strides, he glanced back to see the two thoroughbreds making their moves now. The jockeys on the two smaller horses were cropping their horses as hard and fast as they could, yet were unable to gain on Cheyenne. They began to fall back just as the two thoroughbreds came up to challenge Cheyenne for the lead. They were coming hard and Eli knew this was going to be a true test of his young horse.

The horse on the rail managed to squeeze between the fence and Cheyenne. The one on the outside was almost neck and neck with him.

“Go Get ‘em, Big Boy!” Eli yelled and slapped his horse on his neck just as he dropped his reins and let him have his head.

The jockeys knew all about this move by now and were cropping their horses furiously in an effort to stay even with the big Paint just a few more strides, in hopes of having a chance to steal the race down the stretch.

Little Eli slapped Cheyenne’s neck once more as he dug his moccasins into his flanks. He was leaning forward over the neck of Cheyenne, holding onto his mane as his horse stretched his long legs out, racing away from the two thoroughbreds to win by three lengths, still pulling away as they crossed the finish line.

Little Eli threw his arms out, holding his hands up as Cheyenne ran. He kept running around the racetrack as if he were still racing. He ran easily back around to where they had started, then galloped the rest of the way around the track slowly. He ran right to the winners circle without Eli even guiding him.

There was a lot of money bet on the last race of the weekend. Most of the betting crowd had seen what was done to set up the young Paint from Crow Ridge. They’d put their money on a what seemed to be a sure thing and lost when the Paint horse called Cheyenne ran away from the fastest horses in this part of the country to win by three lengths.

Marshal Crow himself had covered over a hundred thousand in bets, all on his son’s horse, Cheyenne. He’d given them odds of two-to-one that Cheyenne would win by more than one length.

Sam Parkman had signed a note, borrowing money against his thoroughbreds from the local banker to place one last bet in an effort to recover his losses. He lost two bets, one to Eli Crow for ten thousand at two-to-one odds to the winner. The other, a head-to-head bet for another twenty-five thousand with Marshal Crow.

Ezra had bet ten thousand of his and Little Eli’s combined winnings on an even money bet with one bookmaker who just knew there was no way the young Paint could win this race, his fourth in two days. Ezra placed another bet with the local man who owned the thoroughbred that had been favored to win it all this weekend. He had learned well the ins-and-outs of wagering from his dad and backed the man into a two-to-one, winner take all, for another twenty-five hundred.

On the train back to Crow Ridge later that evening, the Young Bucks, the Crow girls, and the Barkley brothers rode together in the cattle car with Cheyenne as he ate his hay and munched on his special grain mix. They’d bought a thick woolen horse blanket from the man in Vinita who’d sold his thoroughbred horse to Mayor Phillips after taking Parkman’s horses against his debt at the bank. They had the blanket spread over Cheyenne and tied in place to keep him warm as the summer wind whipped through the side rails of the cattle car.

The talk and laughter never stopped as they recalled each race, and each bet they had made over the weekend of racing at Vinita Downs.

Fort Worth, Texas
September 20, 1888:

Eli, Moses, Duncan, Joe, Jefferson, and the Young Bucks travel on the KATY to Fort Worth, Texas to spend three days and attend the Western Livestock-Cattlemen’s Convention and Rodeo with Howard Claymore.

They took Cheyenne with them after Howard told them there would be some of the best horse races they’d ever see down there with high stakes wagers to be had.

While there, they attend the association’s annual meeting with Howard. Eli is elected as a member of the Western Livestock Association Board at the recommendation of Howard, even after a strong protest from Eli.

Shortly after arriving, Howard entered the Young Bucks in the youth rifling and pistol handling contests. Micah and Caleb took honors in knife throwing with Pike placing third. Little Eli won the youth pistol contest with Isaac and Ezra in second and third. Ezra won the rifling event with Micah, Eli, Pike, Isaac and Caleb following, each with only one miss apiece.

There wasn’t a contest for axe or tomahawk throwing, but the six Young Bucks put on an exhibition with their hatchets that left the crowd shouting for more.

The crowd really began shouting and yelling when the Young Bucks names were announced a few minutes later for yet another spectacular exhibition in the center of the arena. When they came out of the stands this time, they now wore their Colt Peacemakers strapped around their hips and tied on their legs.

The Young Bucks were putting on an exhibition with their Colts that was so amazing, some in the crowd believed it to be staged and a spoof of true pistol handling abilities, since they were only fourteen years of age.

One man jumped the fence and ran to them with a sack full of pecans he’d been cracking and eating. “Use these pecans. I know they’re real; I pick them up at my house every fall. These are the smaller pecans and we’ll see just how good you fast-draw Indian Bucks really are.” He challenged them with what looked to them like it might have been a sneer.

To disprove the naysayers, after the first round of shots where each of them tossed their own pecans into the air, Little Eli spoke to the announcer and the man grinned as he turned to the crowd and asked for six volunteers to come out to the arena and toss pecans into the air for the Young Bucks.

Wade and Ward Blasingame looked enough alike, most people they met thought they were twins. They were actually born thirteen months apart. They inherited their ranch lands from their parents and worked together as partners on their huge spread near Abilene, Texas, learning to work cattle when they were barely old enough to ride a horse.

When Wade was eighteen and Ward was seventeen, they married sisters from a neighboring ranch in a double ceremony. Now, each of the brothers had two daughters, ages fourteen and thirteen and the four girls were inseparable not only on their huge ranch but wherever they went. The four Blasingame girls had been allowed to do just about whatever they were big enough to do and whatever they wanted to do, as long as it was legal; and they keep their clothes on.