"Rubbish," says he. "Has this girl ever been to the Caribbean?" he asks Amy. It looks like he is ready to grasp at straws.
"Yes," says Amy, and then, incredibly, she says, "she has often spoken of her knowledge of the mysterious arts of that region."
The Colonel squints at me. "It's powerful enough to cure someone as sick as him?"
"Sir, it was made to raise the dead. It may not cure Mr. jarvis, but it will get him up."
He hooks a thumb over his shoulder. "All right. Go get him up. And hurry."
Ah. And now for the hook.
"I have terms, Colonel Trevelyne, and you may not like them." I'm puttin' up a brave front, but I'm shakin' inside. To talk to a colonel like this...
"What! What terms, girl?"
"If I rouse up Peter Jarvis enough so he can get on the Sheik and win the race, you must swear, on your honor as an officer and gentleman, to never again bet on anything. Not a penny, not a pound, not a dollar, not a dime. Nothing wagered ever again."
He balls his fist and lifts it high above me. "Why, you insolent piece of baggage...!"
I cringe and hunch my shoulders, and wait for the blow, but the blow does not come.
"Father, please!" say both Amy and Randall together.
I open my eyes. The Colonel is standing there, and he is a bit shrunken, like the air has gone out of him.
I have no mercy. "Do you so swear?"
"Yes," he says, quietly. "I swear."
"All right," I say, all brisk. "Amy and Randall, I'll need your help. Randall, get everybody out of Petey's room." I cross my arms at the wrists over my chest like I'm a voodoo princess and I put my head back and slit my eyes and start into a low chant, "Hey-ya, hey-ya, hey-ya, hey!" over and over and follow them in.
We surge into Petey's tiny room and there are people in there standing around him lying there in the bed. Petey's mouth is open and his face is gray and he looks half dead. "Everybody please leave," says Randall, curtly. They look confused. "Out!" he roars this time. "Now!" And out they go, falling over each other in their haste. Randall's blood is up.
As soon as the door is shut, I say, "Randall, put your back to the door and let no one in! Amy, help me!" and I flip my hat to the floor and start to struggle out of my dress. "Randall. Turn around!"
Petey's silks are hanging on the wall with his boots beneath them. Amy has undone the buttons on the back of my dress and I flip it over my head. Off with the shoes and stockings and I pull off my slip and—"Randall, turn around!" Oh, to hell with it, there's no time! I put my thumbs in the waistband of my flouncy drawers and pull them down and step out of them. I reach for the silk pants...
"Don't ... don't let 'em..."
Petey's talking! His eyes flutter open. I dash to his side. "Don't let 'em what, Petey? Don't let 'em..."
But he passes out again and there's no time to try to bring him back.
I go to the wall and get the silks. I sit on the edge of the bed to pull on the white stockings and then stand and tug on the tight pants and buckle 'em below the knees, then the loose, blousy green-striped top, which'll hide what I got up there. On with the boots—they're a little big, but they'll serve.
There's the call of a trumpet outside. Hurry!
I take the white silk scarf I had seen last night when I visited Petey and I wrap it around my lower face. "Tie it in back, Amy! It can't fall off or all is lost!"
"But why...?"
"'Cause the other jocks won't race against a girl, is why! Male bleedin' pride, is why! Now, tie it! Tight!"
She does it. I take the green cap and cram it way down on my head and head for the door, Amy, terrified, in my wake.
At the door, a red-faced Randall stands and says, "I..."
"Later, Randall," I say. "Let us out and let no one else in. When we come back we'll give three raps and then two. Got that?"
He nods and opens the door and we rush out.
There is a roar from the crowd as I head for the track and the Sheik. I stop halfway there and make a great fakery of dou-blin' over and coughin' loudly, as if seized by a spasm. I steal a glance up at the Colonel, who is back in his box lookin' at me and standing a little straighten I give it a few more coughs, as deep and disgustin' as I can make 'em, makes a show of bein' a bit weak and wobbly on me pins, and then I go to the Sheik and put my foot in George's intertwined hands and I'm up in the saddle, and Oh, he knows me, he does. The Sheik gives me his big rollin' eye and whickers a greeting as I get my feet in the stirrups and settle in and take the riding crop from George and stick it in my right armpit. I don't want this small whip 'cause I wouldn't want to use it on the Sheik, but I take it anyway 'cause it'll look wrong if I don't. I pat his neck and he dances around a bit—he is ready to go, no mistake.
"Glad you could get up there, Petey," says George. "I had my doubts, for sure." He adjusts the cinch on the saddle. "Now watch out for the big bay horse—that jock Muir from Tenbrooks Farms don't mean us no good. At the start you'll have him on your right, and that bastard Thayer over there on that hammerheaded roan'll be on your left at the start, so you know what that means."
What? What what means? I thought we just started running and the fastest horse wins and that's the Sheik, who'll run away from all the others and we'll win. All of a sudden I'm thinking that there might be more to this and maybe I don't know what I'm doin'. I want to blurt out to George just who I am sitting up here and what the hell is he talkin' about, but the fewer people what know about this the better, or the secret will be out and the race will be forfeit and all will be in vain, so I just give a low grunt and another cough.
"I'd go wide on the first turn if I was you. You'll lose some ground but the horse'll make it up on the straightaways. Good luck to you, Pete. There's a lot ridin' on this."
I nod and grunt and throw in a racking cough and there's the trumpet call for the horses to parade by the grandstand and I take the reins and somehow get him in line and it's all I can do to keep him there. What with all the other stallions and mares around, he's in a fine lather and in no mood to be good. Fine. It's his job to win the race, not to be good.
We come off the line and head for the starting positions. The crowd noise is nothing like anything I've ever heard—there must be a thousand people here, counting the grandstand and those circling the track. Grooms take hold of the bridles and pull the horses to their spots, and it is a very brave groom who puts his hand on the Sheik's bridle. We are third in from the rail, it having all been decided by the drawing of lots, and George was right about the two to either side of me—they look like the meanest of blokes and they're both glaring at me. I can't let 'em look too close, so I coughs and leans forward and hisses in the Sheik's ear, "Scream, Sheik, scream!" and he rears back on his hind legs and does just that, he screams out his defiance to all those who would dare to come here to his own kingdom and challenge him, to shame him, and to take his mares. It is a fine show.
"Mind yer mount, jock!" shouts Muir.
"Sod off," growls I, as deep as I can. "Mind yer own nag!"
A tall man with a red sash across his belly goes to the end of our line and then takes ten paces forward. He has a pistol by his side. All eyes are on him now, so I don't got to worry about Muir or Thayer peerin' at me.
The man holds up his hand and the crowd falls silent. He takes a deep breath and bellows, "Ladies and Gentlemen! The race is to be twelve furlongs, once around the track and up to the finish line in front of the grandstand." I look forward and see the white line drawn with lime on the track! He raises the gun, "Ready." There is a hush. All us jocks point our tails skyward and lean forward.
He fires! The crowd roars as twelve thousand pounds of muscle, hide, and bone surges out of the gates, and the first thing that happens is that Muir brings his horse a sharp left, right into us and forces the Sheik to miss his footing and stumble, and Thayer on the other side does the same thing and the Sheik almost goes to his knees, and Muir and Thayer pull ahead of us. The Sheik screams in anger and I can hear his teeth snapping at the other horses, but I urge him forward—run now, fight later—and he gains his footing and his muscles gather under me and he charges down the track after the rest of them. A sob chokes me—I messed up, I messed up bad—we are dead last!
But the Sheik don't sob and cry—all he wants to do is run and beat the others back to wherever the hell they come from and he don't care about nothin' else and he flies down the track with his ears laid back, and by the time we are approaching the first turn, we have passed one, two, now three, four! We are catching up! We are flying!
We lean into the first turn and I see that Muir and Thayer are running first and second, with a big chestnut running third. There's a short straightaway before the next turn and we pass two more horses, leaving only the front three. As we get close to the middle of the turn, Thayer, who's on the inside, lets his mount drift a little to the right, leaving an opening at the rail.
An opening! If we can get through there we'll save distance being on the inside 'cause there's less ground to cover and we'll be in the lead and we won't never let go of it! I urge the Sheik forward toward the opening and he goes for it. Poor trusting horse to have such a poor stupid rider. As soon as we get close, Thayer pulls back to the rail and Muir comes alongside to the right, and I realize to my horror that we're trapped! Boxed in!
That's what Petey was tryin to say—"Don't let 'em box you in,"you incredibly stupid girl! And George said, "Stay outside on the first turn!" Oh, why didn't I, why do I always think I know everything about everything and all I ever really do is make a hash of things!
As we come out of the turn, Thayer slows his horse, just a little, not so the people in the stands could notice and cry foul, but just a little bit slower so a horse can come up behind us to keep us from escaping that way and the chestnut can come up on the outside to take the lead. It's a setup! A scam. I've been scammed again! Muir and Thayer never had no thought of winnin' the race! All they wanted to do was keep the Colonel's horse from winnin'! Stupid, stupid, stupid...
The chestnut is now four lengths ahead, now five, and if he gets too far ahead, there'll be no catchin' him even if I do get out of this. In desperation I veer the Sheik to the right to try and force Muir away enough to break free, but Muir don't move. Instead he brings up his crop and crack! he brings it down on my leg, and it's like a hot poker was laid there. The pain shoots up me side and into me head and I lets out a howl of pain and sorrow and desperation right into the Sheik's ear and he hears it and the muscles of his neck swell up and he darts his head forward and bares his teeth and clamps down on the arse of Thayer's horse up there in front of his nose. The roan screams and breaks stride and there's an opening, and this time we make it through. We are free!
But the chestnut is now at least twelve lengths ahead and we're in the backstretch.
"Catch him, Sheik!" I shrieks. "Catch him!" The leader is so far ahead I despair of closing the distance, but I urge the Sheik on anyway, bouncing up and down in the saddle, tears of pain and desolation runnin' out the sides of my eyes—how could I have been so stupid—and the Sheik pounds on ever faster and I can feel his hatred for the horse ahead of him and I start to babble, "Oh come on Sheik come on boy he's gonna beat you he's gonna shame you he's gonna take your mares he's gonna beat you boy," and the horse pumps faster and we've gained a length or two but that horse up there ain't no scrub, neither. He's fast and he's strong and he's at the end of the far stretch and he leans into the last turn and clods of dirt are flying up at us from his hooves what are diggin' out to the side as he leans. But we don't care, we just pound on and the white rail posts and the screaming people standing and waving their arms flicker by in the corner of my eye like they ain't even real, just pieces of a crazy dream—come on boy come on boy—and we're in the last turn, too, and we go right up to the rail 'cause there ain't nobody to box us in now and we gain another length in the turn, and when we come out of it, we're only four lengths behind!