Trailin! | Page 3

spread over the arena; more hushed and more hushed it
grew, as if invisible blankets of soundlessness were dropping down

over the stirring masses; men glanced at each other with a vague
surmise, knowing that this was no part of the performance. The whole
audience drew forward to the edge of the seats and stared, first at the
monstrous horse, and next at the group of men who could "ride
anything that walks on four feet and wears a skin."
Some of the women were already turning away their heads, for this was
to be a battle, not a game; but the vast majority of New York merely
watched and waited and smiled a slow, stiff-lipped smile. All the
surroundings were changed, the flaring electric lights, the vast roof, the
clothes of the multitude, but the throng of white faces was the same as
that pale host which looked down from the sides of the Coliseum when
the lions were loosed upon their victims.
As for the wild riders from the cattle ranges, they drew into a close
group with the ringmaster between them and the gaunt stallion, almost
as if the fearless ones were seeking for protection. But the announcer
himself lost his almost invincible sang-froid; in all his matchless
vocabulary there were no sounding phrases ready for this occasion, and
little Werther strutted in the centre of the great arena, rising to his
opportunity.
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?"
And he laughed with great good nature.
"What's your name?" asked Werther, his small eyes growing round and
wide.
"Anthony Woodbury."
"Mine's Werther."
They shook hands.
"City raised?"
"Yes."
"Didn't