it is, Belle; it looks like a puff, but it may
be only a sting or a bot. Anyway, I'm afraid it's rest for a week it
means," and he rubbed and rubbed the embrocation in with force, while
Blazing Star looked back with liquid eyes.

This seemed like a misfortune, but it proved a blessing, for it kept
Hartigan out of the racing crowd for a week at a time when he was
skating on ice that was very, very thin.

As Saturday came, the Rev. Dr. Jebb received an unexpected call from a
very regular caller--the Rev. James Hartigan--to ask if Dr. Jebb would
kindly take both sermons on Sunday next. Blazing Star had a puff on his
nigh hock, inside, a little above the leg-wart; it might not amount to
much, but it required a good deal of attention every few hours, both day
and night, to prevent the possibility of its becoming serious from
neglect.

CHAPTER XXVII

The Start

September came, with all the multiplied glories of the Black
Hills--calm, beautiful weather in a calm and beautiful country. For days
back, there had been long strings of Indians, with their families and
camp outfits, moving down the trail between the hills, bound all for the
great raceground at Fort Ryan. Lodges were set up every day. Each of the
half-dozen tribes formed its own group. Ranchmen came riding in,
followed by prairie schooners or round-up wagons, for their camps;
motley nondescripts from Deadwood and places round about. There were
even folk from Bismarck and Pierre and, of course, all Cedar Mountain
and the soldiers from the Fort.

"Sure, I didn't know there _were_ so many people," was Hartigan's remark
to Belle, as they rode on the morning of the fifteenth about the camp
with its different kinds of life. Then, after a long pause and gaze
around, he added, in self-examining tone: "Faith, Belle, it seems to me
that, being a Preacher, I ought to get up and denounce the whole thing,
preach right now and evermore against it, and do all I can to stop it,
but--heaven help me if I am a hypocrite--I don't feel that way at all; I
just love it, I love to see all these people here, I love to see the
horses, and I wouldn't miss that race if it were the last thing on earth
I was to look on. Oh, I haven't been betting, Belle," he hastened to
explain as he saw the look of dread on her face. "I've kept clear of it
all, but God only knows what it means to me."

"Never fear, Belle," he went on, "I won't ride in a race, I won't bet;
I've given my word."