Fast as the Wind, Nat Gould [i am malala young readers edition .TXT] 📗

you always were. I shall not want half, nothing like it. Place a few thousands to my credit in a London bank."

"That would not be safe. I will draw ten thousand pounds in notes, and you can use it as you think best," said Picton.

"Very well. That is a large sum, but I shall probably require it. The scheme I have in my mind will cost money, a lot of it, but I'd sacrifice all I have to prove my innocence," said Hector.

"And I will help you. I want to keep up Haverton, but you shall have the rest. I'll tell you what. Hector, I'm going to back Tearaway to win a fortune in the St. Leger. Already money is going on at forty to one; I may get a thousand on at that price, perhaps more," said Picton.

"I'd like to see her have a spin before I leave," said Hector.

"And you shall. Blackett has obtained permission from Sir Robert Raines to use his famous Cup horse Tristram in a trial gallop. The horse will be here to-morrow, and we can put them together with one or two more the next morning. Sir Robert is coming over to see it. He takes a great interest in her; he owns her sire King Charles."

"Sir Robert coming?" said Hector doubtfully.

"He'll never recognize you—no one would, not even——"

Picton pulled himself up short. He had spoken unthinkingly and stopped just in time; but Hector was not satisfied.

"Not even—whom did you mean?" he asked.

"Never mind; it was a slip; I forgot."

"Lenise Elroy?" asked Hector calmly.

"Yes, I thought of her."

"And you think she, even that woman, would not recognize me?"

"I am certain she would not. She might have done so when you escaped, but not now. Your illness has changed you in a very strange way. I can hardly believe you are Hector sometimes," said Picton.

"Then I must be safe," he said, smiling. "Speaking of Mrs. Elroy," he went on, "did I tell you I saw her in Torquay?"

"No," said Picton surprised. "Where? Are you sure?"

"I was passing a hotel when something prompted me to cross the road and look in at the window. I saw her seated at the supper table, laughing gayly with people, a man beside her, probably her lover, he seemed infatuated with her. She is still very beautiful, the same luring smile, and eyes like stars; you can imagine how I felt. The sight was too much for me, as I contrasted her position with mine. I raised my hands and appealed to God for justice. My prayer was answered, for a little farther on, as I staggered down the road, I came across that great-hearted fellow Brack. You know the rest."

"Yes, I know the rest," said Picton.

They were in the study and could talk freely. No one ventured in except Captain Ben, and he came at this moment. He saw something serious was going on; shutting the door quietly he sat down.

"Hector is going away, to London. He can't stand the associations at Haverton. It is not to be wondered at," said Picton.

"I'm surprised he stood it so long; I know what it must have cost him. You're brave, Hector, far braver than we are. By God, you're a man if ever there was one!" said Ben in his straight manner.

"A man can bear far more than he imagines. Torture of the mind is greater than torture of the body," said Hector.

"You're right, no doubt," said Ben. "But why London, why go there?"

"I have my reasons; they are powerful. On board the Sea-mew I laid my plans; I think I shall succeed," said Hector.

"Would you like Ben to go with you?" asked Picton.

"No—he'd be too merciful," said Hector calmly.

They looked at him; he spoke quietly, but there was that in his voice and face boded ill for somebody.

"When are you going?" asked Ben.

"After Tearaway has had her trial with Tristram," said Hector.

"That will be worth seeing," said Ben.

"And the filly will beat Sir Robert's horse," said Picton.

"I doubt it," said Ben. "Think what he's done, and Ascot Cup winner, Doncaster Cup Cesarewitch, Metropolitan, Northumberland Plate—he must be the best stayer in England."

"So he is," said Picton, "but Tearaway will beat him for speed at the finish. Blackett says he'll put them together over two miles, with only seven pounds between them. I suggested level weights but he doesn't want to take the heart out of her."

"If she can beat Tristram at seven pounds she's the best filly ever seen," said Ben.

"And I believe she is," was Picton's enthusiastic comment.

Hector Woodridge sat in his room, when everything was still in the house, and thought over his plans. No one recognized him, Picton said even Lenise Elroy would not recognize him; so much the better, for he had dealings with her.

How he hated this woman, who had fooled him to the top of his bent and done him so great an injury! She must suffer. Did she suffer now? She must, there was some sort of conscience in her. Her beauty appealed to him once; never would it do so again. She knew he was innocent, the only person who did, and he intended wringing a confession from her.

Fortunately he had money. His brother was generous, and offered him more than he had a right to expect; he would make it up to him some day, when he had completed the work he intended.

There was a man on Dartmoor, and there was Brack: they must be rewarded for their kindness, for the help they had given him. And there was that gracious lady who assisted him as he tramped to Torquay. He had not forgotten her face, it was engraven on his memory. He was thinking of her now, how she gave him the coat, the boots, food, and spoke kindly to him. When times were changed, and his work done, he would seek her out again and thank her. His heart warmed toward her; he contrasted her purity with that of the other woman, and wondered how he could have been caught in Lenise Elroy's toils.

Elroy was a weak-minded, foolish fellow; she married him for his money. He recalled his first meeting with her; they were mutually attracted, and so it went on and on, from bad to worse, until the end, when the fatal shot was fired.

And since then? He could not bear to think of it all. He vowed Lenise Elroy should pay the penalty as he had, that her tortures of mind should equal his; then she would know what he had suffered; no, not a tenth part of it; but even that would overwhelm her.

CHAPTER XV "THE ST. LEGER'S IN YOUR POCKET"

TRISTRAM arrived at Haverton; Sir Robert Raines came the same day; everything was in readiness for the trial next morning.

Sir Robert was a great racing man, came of a sporting family, had a fine seat about forty miles from Haverton, called Beaumont Hall, where he kept a stud of horses and about thirty or forty racers. He was well known as a plunger, and had landed some big stakes; occasionally he was hard hit, but so far the balance had been on the right side. He and the Woodridges had been friends for years; he had known the Admiral and admired him. He had also known Raoul Elroy and his wife, and been present at Hector's trial, on the grand jury, and after. Sir Robert was loath to believe Hector guilty, but on the evidence could arrive at no other conclusion. The result of the trial made no difference in his friendship with the Admiral and Picton; when the former died he helped his son to the best of his ability. He had a great liking for Captain Ben, which was returned.

It was a critical moment when Hector was introduced to him as William Rolfe, "a friend of mine from Devonshire," said Picton.

Sir Robert shook hands with him; it was easy to see he had no idea it was Hector Woodridge, and all breathed more freely.

"So you imagine you've got the winner of the St. Leger at Haverton, eh, Pic?" he said as they sat smoking after dinner.

"It's more than imagination. I think Tearaway is the best filly I ever saw; so does Blackett; he says she's as fast as the wind," said Picton.

"Is she? The wind blows at a pretty pace over the wolds sometimes, sixty miles an hour or more; she's not quite up to that," said Sir Robert.

"No, not quite," laughed Picton; "but she has a rare turn of speed, and can stay as long as she's wanted."

"I haven't seen her for some time," he said.

"She's improved a lot, a real beauty; I'm sure you will say so. You ought to back her to win a good stake."

"I'm told Ripon will win. They fancy him a lot at Newmarket; they also think he had bad luck to lose the Derby."

"Suppose Tearaway beats Tristram in the morning at seven pounds difference?" said Picton.

"It will be the biggest certainty for the St. Leger ever known," said Sir Robert.

Hector joined in the conversation. Sir Robert liked him, but no look or word reminded him of Hector Woodridge.

"I'm safe," thought Hector. "Sir Robert ought to have been one of the first to recognize me."

Next morning they were all on the moor early. Four horses were to take part in the trial: Tristram, Tearaway, Rodney and Admiral, and the filly was giving weight to all except Sir Robert's great horse.

"By jove, she has grown into a beauty!" exclaimed the baronet when he saw the beautiful black filly with Fred Erickson, the popular Yorkshire jockey, in the saddle. Erickson lived at Haverton village, but was not often at home, as he had an enormous amount of riding, going to scale under eight stone easily.

"Good morning, Fred," said Sir Robert. "You're on a nice filly."

"She is, Sir Robert; one of the best."

"Can she beat Tristram? You've ridden him."

"I wouldn't go so far as that, but she'll give him a good race," said the jockey.

Abel Dent came from Beaumont Hall to ride Tristram in the gallop. He was always on the horse's back in his work and knew him thoroughly.

"You'll have to keep him going, Abe," said Sir Robert, smiling.

"I'll keep 'em all going," was the confident reply.

Rodney and Admiral were more than useful; the latter was to bring them along for the last mile, it was his favorite distance.

Brant Blackett greeted them as he rode up on his cob. He was brimful of confidence as to the result of the spin. He set Tearaway to give Rodney and Admiral a stone each.

"I'll send them down to the two-mile post," he said.

"This is the best long gallop anywhere, I should say," said Sir Robert. "I often envy it you, Pic, my boy. Fancy four miles straight—it's wonderful."

It was indeed a glorious sight. The moor stretched away for miles, undulating, until it was lost in the hill in the distance. The training ground had been reclaimed from it, snatched from its all-devouring grasp, and been perfected at great expense. Beside the somber brown of the wild moorland it looked a brilliant, dazzling green.

Haverton Moor harbored vast numbers of birds, and the grouse shooting was among the best in Yorkshire. Picton Woodridge owned the moor; it was not profitable, but he loved it, and would sooner have parted with fertile farms than one acre of this brown space. It was not dull this morning; the sun touched everything, and as far as the eye could see there were billows of purple, brown, green, yellow, and tinges of red. A haze hung over it when they arrived, but gradually floated away like gossamer and disappeared into space. The air was bracing; it was good to be out