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Updated: June 9, 2025
Travis's face was set, set in pain and disappointment when he went to the stable. He looked away off, he saw no one. He smoked. He walked over to the stall where they were cooling Lizzette out. "Take the full twenty minutes to cool her, Jim." In the next stall stood Sadie B. She had been driven around by Jud Carpenter, between heats, to exercise her, he had said.
Tennesseans were there in force to back Flecker's gelding Trumps, and they played freely and made much noise. Col. Troup's mare Trombine had her partisans who were also vociferous. But Travis's entry, Lizzette, was a favorite, and, when he appeared on the track to warm up, the valley shouted itself hoarse. Then Flecker shot out of the draw-gate and spun merrily around the track, and Col.
How proud Ben Butler seemed to feel! How much lighter and how smoothly it ran! They got the word at the first score, Trumps and Lizzette going at it hammer and tongs Ben Butler, as usual, trailing. The old man sat pale and ashy, but driving like the born reinsman that he was.
And the grand-stand was cheering again, and as the old man rode up the judges hung out: 2nd Heat: Trumps, 1st; Lizzette, 2nd; Ben Butler, 3rd. Time, 2:15-1/2. The old man looked at it in wonder: "Two fifteen an' not shet out, Ben Butler? Only five lengths behind? My God, can we make it can we make it?" His heart beat wildly. For the first time he began to hope. Trumps now had two heats.
Lizzette and Trombine were already at the wire, but poor Troup his mare had never been able to settle after her wild break, and she caught the flag square in the face. The crowd met the old pacer with a yell of delight. He had not been shut out marvel of marvels! It was getting interesting indeed. Bud and Jack met him with water and a blanket. How proud they were!
Flecker and the Tennesseans took drinks and shouted themselves hoarse. Then the old preacher did something, but why he never could explain. It seemed intuition when he thought of it afterwards. Calling Col. Troup to him he said: "I'm kinder silly an' groggy, Col'nel, but I wish you'd go an' look in her mouth an' see how old Lizzette is." The Colonel looked at him, puzzled. "Why?"
It was: 1st Heat: Trumps, 1st; Lizzette, 2nd; Ben Butler, 3rd; Trombine distanced. Time, 2:17-1/2. Then he heard a man swearing elegantly. It was Col. Troup. He was sitting in his sulky in front of the grand stand and talking to Travis and the genial Flecker: "A most unprofessional thing, gentlemen, damned unprofessional, sah, to shut me out.
But now Lizzette and Ben Butler had two each who would win the next, the decisive heat. God help the old preacher, for he had no chance. Not after the speed that mare showed. Colonel Troup came up: "By gad, sah, Bishop don't give up you've got one mo' chance. Be as game as the ole hoss."
Never before had such a race been paced in the Tennessee Valley. Could he take the next heat from Lizzette? If he could, he had her at his mercy. Grimly they scored down. Travis sullen that he had to fight the old pacer, but confident of shutting him out this time. Confident and maddened. The old man, as was his wont in great emergencies, had put a bullet in his mouth to clinch his teeth on.
Above the judges had hung out: 6th Heat: Lizzette, 1st; Ben Butler, 2nd. Time, 2:14. When Flecker of Tennessee saw the time hung out, he jumped from his seat exclaiming: "Six heats and the last heat the fastest? Who ever heard of a tired mare cutting ten seconds off that way? By the eternal, but something's wrong there." "Six heats an' the last one the fastest By gad, sah," said Col. Troup.
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