Wyoming Wildfire (32 page)

Sibyl was very pleased to finish second, but having Emma share in her reward ruined it for her and she spent the time until the buckboard race brooding over the inequity of life that kept a
lady
from punching a
woman
in the nose.

Fortunately, she was able to forget her worries in rooting for Augusta, but her active help wasn’t needed. Lasso had taken charge of Augusta, and the poor distracted dear had no chance to listen to any voice but the booming trumpet in her ear.

“Now remember, keep old Sally up to the bit. She’s inclined to loaf on you if you give up her a chance, but there’s not a better horse in this race. We’ve been over this ground so many times, you ought to know it like the back of your hand. You’ll win it hands down, I know you will.” Augusta looked so intent, so acutely miserable that Sibyl would have been willing to give her second if Augusta could win. Sibyl didn’t know why her aunt had finally let herself be talked into entering the race, but Augusta never did anything that wasn’t important.

The race itself was something of an anticlimax. Augusta got Sally away first and never relinquished the lead. She handled the course like she’d been driving all her life, and in the straightaway held off the closing rush of a raw-boned sorrel driven by a robust young woman with flying red hair and a face covered with freckles.

“There, didn’t I tell you ignoramuses she would win!” Lasso shouted to the entire garnering. “Put your money on the quality, they always come through,” he exhorted everyone before he bodily plucked the nearly insensate Augusta from the buckboard and kissed her roundly in front of the appreciative spectators. Sibyl, astonished and incensed, started to protest, but Burch’s restraining hand stopped her. Lasso put Augusta down, tucked her arm into his, and announced that they were “going inside and have a little something to celebrate.”

“Don’t stay too long,” called Burch. “They’ll bring the horses around for the ladies’ race any minute now.”

Sibyl’s euphoria over her aunt’s win dissipated quickly, plunging her back to earth with a thud. She had already been told that Emma had the best horse in this corner of the territory and was a sure winner of the race. What of her fifty dollar bet, and her pride?

“The only way she’ll lose is if she falls off or the horse falls down,” boasted her brother. The nods of agreement from the onlookers convinced Sibyl this was not just brotherly prejudice talking.

“Old Stratton had that horse brought in from the East—Pennsylvania, I think” Burch explained. “It’s part Thoroughbred and part Morgan.”

“That damned animal cost him a packet, too.” Auggie had been drinking steadily since morning, and his wits and speech were not entirely clear.

Sibyl stood quietly while the horses were saddled and the rest of the guests gathered at the start. It was the next to last event of the day and nearly everyone had come to watch. “Worried?” Burch asked.

“A little,” she admitted, trying to keep calm.

“You needn’t be. Nobody can beat Emma’s Lightning.”

That’s exactly the kind of name she would give her horse, thought Sibyl, incensed. If I only had one of the horses Daddy talked about owning before the war.

“Hospitality is the best of the rest. Just ride him as well as you can and you’ll have no trouble finishing second.”

I didn’t enter this race to finish second,” Sibyl hissed, trying hard not to scream the words at him. “I wanted to win so you would pay attention to somebody besides that unnatural female.”

“You make sure you pay attention to that canyon,” Burch continued, caught off guard by Sibyl’s vehement outburst. “There’s still a lot of snow in it and it might be hard to see.”

“Not as hard as it is for you to see that hussy is planning to marry you whether you want her or not,” Sibyl hissed to Burch in a fierce undertone. “I wouldn’t be surprised if she’d already picked out the date.”

“She’d better make sure it’s not in the middle of hunting season,” Burch laughed easily. “I’m not missing a chance for a full elk rack, not even for Emma.”

“Good luck, dear,” Augusta said, appearing at her side. “Lasso and I will be rooting for you.” Sibyl gave her aunt a swift hug and let Burch hoist her into the saddle, his lighthearted laugh still ringing in her ears. He hadn’t even bothered to deny it!

“If you should find yourself close to Lightning on the return leg, remember he doesn’t have a lot of stamina and tends to get mean when he’s tired,” Burch told her.

“If he’s as good as you say, I won’t get within twenty lengths,” she said hopelessly and moved up to the starting line.

Emma was already prancing impatiently at the starting line, confident of victory and eager to get the race over so she could use it as another weapon in her assault on Burch. There were six horses entered and it was obvious that Emma’s Lightning was the class of the field. His long lean limbs and powerful quarters spoke eloquently of the hot blood that coursed in his veins. The coarse and blocky mounts of the others were outclassed before the starter’s gun sounded; only Hospitality could bear comparison to the Eastern bred, and even he could not claim descent from anything more fashionable than swift Indian ponies. Sibyl felt almost sick to her stomach as the starter fired his gun into the clear sky and Emma and Lightning bounded away, leaving the rest like they were standing still.

Emma was taking no chances this time and sent her horse along at a full gallop right from the start. Sibyl couldn’t understand her tactics. It was a mile-and-a-half race and even a pure Thoroughbred couldn’t keep up that kind of pace for the whole distance. But it looked as though he wouldn’t need to, for by the time they had covered half a mile, Emma was over twenty lengths ahead. I’d have to sprout wings and fly over that canyon to win, Sibyl thought to herself.

But even as the thought flashed through her mind, she grasped at it, desperately seeking any possible way to avoid defeat. Was there a way to cross the canyon and avoid the long circle around it? Was there a break in the walls? No. She remembered riding its entire length, and jumping it was the only way across. If she could find the narrowest spot, could Hospitality jump it?

She had been jumping him when Burch wasn’t around, but she didn’t know his limit. She’d never put him to anything like the canyon. She patted the powerful neck and noted that even after three quarters of a mile his flanks were not wet and he wasn’t breathing hard. She looked ahead at Lightning. Maybe he was beginning to run a little rough, she couldn’t tell, but there was no sign that he was slowing down. Certainly not enough for her to catch him.

She waited for another furlong, hoping Lightning would show signs of tiring and begin to fight his rider, but the big chestnut continued to stride powerfully, and as the canyon came into view Sibyl knew the choice had been made for her. Lightning was nearly thirty lengths ahead now. Even if he staggered from here to the finish, she couldn’t catch him; it had to be the canyon. Refusing to think of the consequences if she miscalculated, Sibyl swung her horse away from the charted course and stood up in the irons. All the contestants were riding astride, a fact that Augusta had deplored, and Sibyl understood that if she were to come through this without a broken neck, she couldn’t afford to sit decorously in the saddle like a proper Eastern lady. She knew what she was looking for, the spot where the canyon narrowed to sixteen feet before curving away from the ranch and opening out into the shallow stream they splashed through on the first leg of the race. It was the only spot. She hoped the banks had not been softened by the melting snow. If the ground fell away under Hospitality’s feet when they landed, they would suffer nothing worse than a thorough wetting. If it happened as they took off, well, she refused to think of that.

“What’s she doing?” Lasso demanded urgently without taking his eyes off Sibyl. “There’s no ford on that canyon.” Burch’s ruddy complexion was like rough chalk.

“Why should she need a ford?” asked Augusta, shocked at the look on Burch’s face. “The course goes around the canyon.”

“She’s going to jump it,” Burch said in a bare whisper.

“Jump?” yelped Lasso, his robust bass rising to a shrill tenor. “She’ll kill herself?”

“Please tell me what you’re talking about,” begged Augusta. “What is Sibyl going to jump and why should she kill herself?”

“The only way she can beat Emma is to take the short way back, over that canyon” Lasso explained. Sibyl was now clearly perceived by the crowd to have separated herself from the rest, and a hush fell over the gathering, stilling the merry gossip and overflowing spirits as they realized she was headed straight for the open canyon. What had begun as a harmless competition among friends looking for a little fun had suddenly become a tryst with death, that constant but unacknowledged partner of their everyday existence, and no one misunderstood the seriousness of what Sibyl was about to do.

Snow blurred the outline of the canyon rim, and Sibyl’s eyes searched intently for the exact spot she remembered. The other contestants realized what she planned to do and reacted with horror or stunned surprise; Emma, looking back over her shoulder, took a minute to understand before her smile of triumph shattered into an expression of pure rage. She understood only that Sibyl was attempting to steal her certain victory, and she was livid with fury. Her whip cut deeply into Lightning’s heaving sides. The temperamental animal was reaching the end of a mile run at top speed, and the pangs of exhaustion stirred his ornery streak; it was badly aggravated by the sting of the whip and the raking of the spurred heels into his frothy sides. He threw up his head and tried to veer off course.

“Faster, you gutless half-breed,” screeched Emma, lashing at him even more fiercely. Lightning’s neurotic brain lost all interest in the race and centered instead on ridding himself of the human of his back. He had nearly a furlong lead over the rest of the field, but it dwindled swiftly as he sidled, detoured from the course, and tried to savage Emma’s legs. Her mounting fury served to feed his opposition, and the two engaged in a fruitless battle of wills.

Meanwhile Sibyl had found the spot she was looking for. She rode up to the rim, pausing long enough to test the ground to satisfy herself it was firm. Then she made a wide circle and rode straight for the canyon. In seconds Hospitality was in full stride; the die was cast, there was no turning back. Sibyl leaned well over his withers, her eyes never leaving the pale tan rim outlined against the light shadows of the far side. A nagging worry that her horse might see the canyon yawning beneath him and try to turn at the last minute was shoved ruthlessly aside. That would end in tragedy; only a heroic jump could mean success.

She was completely unconscious now of the other riders and the hushed spectators. It was only Sibyl and her horse and the yawning canyon rushing at them with sickening quickness. She gripped the reins firmly and felt Hospitality gather himself. He had seen the canyon and was not afraid. She rose in the saddle, doing her best to hold him together as they neared the edge, then lifted him up as he soared into the air.

They seemed to hang in space forever, putting off the inescapable moment when she must learn whether her gamble had been successful. It felt so incredibly easy, so extraordinarily exhilarating to be floating in the air, twelve feet above the rock-strewn streambed below. She wondered how it would feel to crash into the stones, to have her fragile body he broken in the muddy, ice-cold water. She was only twenty, too young to have her life come to an end.

Hospitality hit the hard-packed earth with a bone-jarring thud, his hind feet landing scant inches from the rim. He gathered his powerful muscles under him and bounded forward, carrying himself and his stunned rider to the finish line a full ten lengths ahead of the embattled Emma.

As though released from a still photograph, the crowd broke into loud shouts and rushed forward to embrace the winner. Death had been cheated once again, and the celebration was theirs as much as Sibyl’s.

The release of the terrible tension made Sibyl so dizzy she was barely able to understand what was happening. She slid from the saddle into a pair of powerful arms.

“If you ever do anything like that again, I’ll wring your neck,” Burch growled savagely. But he robbed his words of any threat by kissing Sibyl quite passionately. Exultant with her victory and the heavenly feeling of his arms around her, Sibyl kissed him back, heedless of the curious and cheering crowd. “By God, I’m proud of you,” he managed to say at last. That took guts.”

“But please don’t ever do it again” implored Augusta, ignoring the spectacle of her niece in a public embrace. “I don’t think my heart could stand it.”

“Damn fool thing to do, of course, but pretty as a picture,” added Lasso, reflecting the opinion of most of the by-standers. “It’s put Emma Stratton into a proper flame. She looks like a she-wolf at a fresh kill.”

The description may have been a bit exaggerated, but it was plain to all Emma was ready to kill
something.
She dismounted from the still-rebellious Lightning and elbowed her way into the knot around Sibyl.

“You cheated!” she shrieked. “You didn’t follow the course. I had you by more than twenty-five lengths.”

“She’s right,” agreed Auggie. “Sibyl never would have won if she hadn’t jumped that canyon.”

“She didn’t
win,
I did!” Emma screeched like a snarling beast. “She’s got to be disqualified.”

“Nothing was said about not jumping the canyon,” Lasso pointed out. “We only drew the course around it because we figured you ladies wouldn’t want to chance it.”