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Updated: June 6, 2025
And then, one day when things were at their worst, when Garrison, unconscious of the general misery he had engendered, had completed Speedaway's training for the Carter, when he himself was ready for the fight of his life, a stranger stepped off the Cottonton express and made his way to the Desha homestead. He knew the colonel. He was a big, quiet man Jimmie Drake.
The major was so boyishly good-hearted and bull-headed that Crimmins had come to view his master's racing aspirations almost as an expensive joke. However, it seemed that the Carter Handicap and the winning by his very good friend and neighbor, Colonel Desha, had stuck firmly in Major Calvert's craw.
And if the acid little cockney suspected that Garrison had ever carried a jockey's license or been track-bred, he respected the other's silence, and refrained from broaching the question again. Meanwhile, to all appearances, things were running in the harmonious groove over at the Desha home. Since the night of Mr.
"See here, kid, this race means everything to the colonel everything in the world. Every cent he has is at stake; his honor, his life, his daughter's happiness. He's proud, cussed proud, and he's kept it mum. And the girl Miss Desha has bucked poverty like a thoroughbred. I got to know the facts, picking them up here and there, and the major knows, too.
He nodded confirmation as the other stared, white-faced. "Died this morning after he was thrown. Fractured skull. I had word. Some right-meaning chap says somewhere something about saying nothing but good of the dead, kid. If Waterbury tried to queer you, it was through jealousy. I understand he cared something for Miss Desha. He had his good points, like every man.
Miss Clay writes: "The paper with the largest circulation of any in the State outside of Louisville and of great influence in central Kentucky, the Lexington Herald, owned and edited by Desha Breckinridge, has from the beginning of the century editorially advocated and insisted upon suffrage for women, including School, Presidential and full suffrage, whether through 'State rights' or Federal Amendment.
Some unknown member of the boat party, standing on the deck behind the leader, had fired at a movement seen in the willows twenty yards away. The aim was true. A groan was answer to the shot, even before the exclamation of the leader was made. Young Desha fell back, shot through the body.
Moralizing on the deceptiveness of appearances, Crimmins fortified himself with another slab of cut-plug. Miss Desha, up on a big bay gelding with white stockings, was waiting on the Logan Pike, where the driveway of Calvert House swept into it. "Do you know that you're riding Midge, and that she's a hard case?" she said ironically, as they cantered off together. "I'll bet you're thrown.
"They look familiar," commented Dunwody. "That's Jones, and that's Judge Clayton, down below why, I just left both of them on the boat the other day! It's Desha and Yates with them, from the other side of the county. There must be something up." He advanced to meet the visitors. "Good morning, gentlemen. Light down, and come in."
Clean-cut veteran horsemanship, with horse and rider as one; a mechanically precise pace, heart-breaking for a following field. The major slowly climbed off the rail, mechanically eyeing his watch. He was unusually quiet, but there was a light in his eyes that forecasted disaster for his very good friend and neighbor, Colonel Desha, and The Rogue.
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