I had planned to spend the prize
money taking Hope to the harvest ball at Rickard's, and I had
worked hard to put the Hawk in good fettle. I began to feel the
bitterness of failure.
'Black Hawk! Where is Black Hawk?' said one of the judges
loudly.
'Owned by David Brower o' Faraway,' said another looking at his
card.
Where indeed was Uncle Eb? I got up on the fence and looked all
about me anxiously. Then I heard a great cheering up the track.
Somebody was coming down, at a rapid pace, riding a splendid
moving animal, a knee rising to the nose at each powerful stride.
His head and flying mane obscured the rider but I could see the
end of a rope swinging in his hand. There was something familiar
in the easy high stride of the horse. The cheers came on ahead of
him like foam before a breaker. Upon my eyes! it was Black
Hawk, with nothing but a plain rope halter on his head, and Uncle
Eb riding him.
'G'lang there!' he shouted, swinging the halter stale to the shining
flank. 'G'lang there!' and he went by, like a flash, the tail of Black
Hawk straight out behind him, its end feathering in the wind.
Pages:
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246
247
248
249
250
251
252
253
254
255
256
257