  Nimble-footed as a deer, the roan pony Cindy rode responded instantly to the lightest touch of the reins. Cindy leaned forward in the saddle, giving all her attention to the task at hand and driven by just one thought. Her father must have his gun. Without it, he might run afoul of very grave danger. She peered through the haze of dust that had been churned up by thousands of pounding feet ahead, and tried to see the pair she sought. They were nowhere in sight, and she hadn't the faintest idea in which direction they were going. But she must find them. In the first few minutes, the Run was taking more definitely the only pattern it could have. The horsemen were surging ahead with, naturally, the best riders on the fastest mounts in the lead. Next came the wagons and carts, and last a horde of running people. Cindy was among the people. She could not let the pony have his full speed because, if she did, she would knock somebody down. She wondered fleetingly where all the men had come from. There hadn't seemed to be nearly that many, but they were here now. Seeing an opening, she touched Sparkle with her heels, and he shot through the crowd. For twenty yards she had clear riding, but ahead were more people. One, a burly man in a red shirt, heard hoofbeats behind him and looked over his shoulder. He turned, stopped, and when Sparkle came near he leaped at the pony's head. "Give me that horse, boy!" he roared. Cindy's heart caught in her throat, but Sparkle was true to his training. Frightened by the man's leap, he still obeyed the rein and swerved around him so closely that Cindy's leg brushed the man's shirt. As she rode on, she had time for a chuckle. The burly man had thought she was a boy. Nobody expected to find a girl riding in this, the greatest and most exciting race in history. However, now that she had prevented one attempt to take her pony, she had confidence that she could foil others. Riding expertly, she watched for open spaces through which she could guide Sparkle. Soon she drew ahead of most of the running men. Only the swiftest were in front of her now, and they were scattered. A lean man with a pack on his back was running desperately. Even as Cindy watched, he let his pack fall to the ground. Relieved of its weight, he ran a little faster, and when Cindy flashed past he yelled: "Oklahoma! Yip-pee!" Twenty yards farther on, a big man who was one of the leaders cast an anxious glance back over his shoulder. The man's face was sweat-streaked, and sweat-damp hair clung tightly to his head. He continued to run, peeling off his shirt as he did so, and when the shirt was in his hands he stopped running and threw it on the ground. Cindy knew he did so to mark this claim as his own. "My claim!" he bellowed in a voice like a bull's. "My claim! Ever'body stay off my claim!" When Cindy rode past he was still shouting. She risked a single backward glance to see the man who had staked his claim in a furious fist fight with the man who had thrown his pack away. Nobody stopped to watch the battle. Cindy slackened the reins, touched Sparkle with her heels, and said softly to the pony, "Come on, Sparkle!" He shot ahead like a coursing greyhound, and Cindy's heart began to sing. This was how she had felt when she had dreamed of riding into Oklahoma. Sparkle was not a horse but a bird, and at long last Cindy knew what it was to fly. She flew past the foremost of the running men and caught up with the slowest wagons. She drew abreast of the first, a heavy wagon pulled by four little horses. His hair flying in the wind, a man stood on the seat with the reins in one hand and plying a whip with the other. He seemed in danger of falling off at any second. Nevertheless he leaned far forward, as though by simply pointing himself at Oklahoma he could make the horses run faster. But they were already doing their best and had no more speed to offer. Cindy passed a man whose horse had fallen. The horse, a nice-looking sorrel, was down in the hindquarters and up in the front. The man—and judging by his brightly checked suit and derby hat, he was a city man—was trying to make the horse get to his feet by pulling on the reins. But either the horse had been hurt by inexpert riding and couldn't get up, or he was stubborn and wouldn't. Cindy rode on, at last understanding why Pete had refused to rent his ponies and her father his mules, even for the fabulous sum of fifty dollars. Far too many of the people riding in this great Run knew nothing about handling horses. Cindy drew up on the next wagon. It was one she did not recognize, but the man driving it was a horseman. Instead of urging his beasts to their fullest speed, he was holding them in. Cindy applauded mentally. That man's horses might not be fresh, but they would be ready for one final spurt when many of the others were hopelessly exhausted. Cindy drew up on the next wagon. She was pleased to see that it belonged to the family who had been "out" in so many places and must make out in Oklahoma. She hoped they'd get a claim, but as she passed, one of the horses began to stumble. Cindy choked back a sob. She could not stop and offer help because, above all, she must take the gun to her father. Doing somewhat better than anyone except himself had thought he could, the man with the bicycle was ahead of all the wagons and pedaling furiously forward. Beside him, elbows flying like a bird's wings, and kicking both heels constantly into his mount's ribs, was the old man with the sorry-looking mule. Only the very fast were ahead of her now. Sparkle, fleet-footed and long-winded, had the additional advantage of carrying probably the lightest rider in the Run. Far from faltering, he had reserves of speed and strength. Cindy held him in. She might need those reserves. She began to worry. Where were her father and Pete Brent? The better to see, she rose in the stirups. She saw scattered horsemen when she arose, but not the two she wanted. Cindy looked back at the onrushing crowd and for a moment wished she could go back. She dared not. Her father must have his gun. The two men who appeared before her did so so unexpectedly that it was as though they had sprouted from the earth itself. Twenty feet apart, they stretched a rope between them. Almost certainly, they wanted to stop her and take Sparkle. Cindy measured the shoulder-high rope with her eye as she rushed toward it. Coming near, she drew Sparkle up, and the roan pony cleared the rope with inches to spare. "Stop, you!" one of the men roared. No longer worried, Cindy flew on. While Sparkle was in the air, she had seen what she'd been unable to see before. There were very few horsemen ahead of her, but one of the horses had a tail that flashed pure white. It had to be Sunshine. Cindy let Sparkle run as fast as he could. She mounted a little rise and discovered she had not made a mistake. Very plainly she saw her father and Pete. The only rider leading them was the lean man with the race horse, and he was in trouble. The horse had run a gallant race but had already given his best. Now he was faltering, and the lean man was beating him savagely with a quirt. The horse stopped and stood with heaving sides and hanging head. The rider leaped off, threw his coat down, drew a gun, and turned to face Jed Simpson and Pete Brent. Cindy let Sparkle run until he was very near, then drew him to a walk. The thick grass muffled Sparkle's hoofbeats. Fully occupied with Jed and Pete, the man did not take his eyes from them. "Go back!" Cindy heard him say. "Go back or I shoot! This is my claim! I staked it with my coat!" "We don't want it," Pete said. "We're going farther on." "I know your kind!" said the bearded man. "You're claim jumpers! Go back or I shoot!" "Go back or I shoot!" he saidCindy halted Sparkle. She drew her father's big revolver from its holster, steadied it across the saddle horn, and pointed it at the bearded man. "You won't shoot anybody!" she said. "Drop your gun, or I'll shoot you!" The bearded man looked startled. Then, very unwillingly, he let his gun fall. Mr. Simpson whirled. "Cindy!" he gasped. "You forgot your gun," Cindy called. "I brought it to you." Pete slid his own gun from its holster and covered the bearded man. "You can give your father his gun, Cindy," he said grimly. "This yahoo won't move." "Oh, good!" Cindy breathed. "I don't know how to shoot anyhow." She rode up to her father, handed him his gun, and Mr. Simpson buckled it about his waist. Pete Brent spoke sternly to the bearded man. "We don't want your claim, but if you feel like fighting, pick up your gun and go to it!" "I thought you was claim jumpers!" the man said tremulously. "I rode a long an' hard piece to get me some land in Oklahoma." "So did a lot of other people, and many of them will ride for nothing. Be careful who you're pulling a gun on after this!" "I'm sorry," the bearded man said humbly. "Cindy!" her father said. "You can't be here!" "But I am here," Cindy pointed out. "I'll have to take you back." "If you do," Pete warned, "somebody else will stake your claim." "Let me stay!" Cindy pleaded. "Let me stay, Dad! I won't be in the way, and maybe I can help!" Her father said uncertainly, "It's no place for a girl." "Please!" Cindy begged. "It looks," Pete grinned, "as though we're three homesteaders instead of two." |
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