The Finding of Jasper Holt by Grace Livingston Hill

For a moment there was silence, as if the crowd could not grasp the import of the amazing feat it witnessed; as if senses had not yet registered results in human brains. Then a great shout arose, gathering force as it swept along. They stamped, they cheered, they yelled, they waved wild, excited hands with handkerchiefs, umbrellas, canes, anything that was in them. They went mad and prolonged the sound until it was deafening. And there did not seem to be one in that whole crowd who remembered that the man for whom they were shouting had been for years despised by them all.

No one noticed Jean, with her face wreathed in smiles, sparkling with tears, and her heart beating wildly with joy. She stood on her railed platform, one hand upon her breast to still its excitement, the other hand wiping away her foolish tears which she hoped to get rid of before anybody had time to notice them. It was all so wonderful, so beautiful to her to have her lover recognized in this way. To be sure, it was only an athletic feat, no recognition of his sterling worth the crowd were giving him in this ovation. She was not deceived. She knew it did not mean any change of their relations; no difference in the circumstances that divided them; but it was something great and beautiful to her to have even his riding recognized thus enthusiastically.

The cheering continued in round after round for several minutes.

Holt had dismounted, halting his horse for a moment, and stood facing the shouting mob, reluctant, yet as if it were something that had to be performed in order to stop their noise. Then with a slight, dignified bow he turned away, and walked toward the fallen rider.

Already a doctor had been called and a crowd was gathering. Holt dispersed them with a wave of his hand, and kneeling beside the injured man, began ministering to him with skilful, tender hand, regardless of the shouting of the throng who cheered this new action yet more madly.

A delegation came in hot haste to bring the hero to the judges' stand where Jean, with shining eyes and excited, happy face, stood waiting with the wreath in her hand to crown him, but he paid not the slightest attention to them. Instead he raised a silver whistle to his lips and blew a keen, sweet blast, that even in their excitement startled the crowd and made them remember the tales connected with that whistle and the deeds it had summoned men to do.

Two men jumped down instantly from the front seat of the grandstand and were at his side before the echo of the whistle had died away. Jean saw them and knew them for the men who had ridden out of the woods the day that Scathlin attacked her. They were his special bodyguard, his faithful, tried and true. He sent them off with a word, and in a moment they were back with a hastily improvised stretcher and, lifting the injured man from the ground, bore him away to the tent that had been set up for the use of the ladies. Holt would have followed but for the detaining committee, who laid hands upon him now and insisted eagerly, compellingly, that he was holding up the whole performance and he had no right to spoil the day and keep the lady waiting. Even then Holt might have resisted had they not made mention of the lady, and he looked up and caught her eye and wistful smile -- for he had no mind to be further in the public eye -- he had ridden for Jean, but he wanted not their favors. He took off his hat to her and came forward, and the action touched off the crowd again into a hoarser cry of excitement than before. Someone, madder than the rest, even ventured to bring his name into the cry: "Holt! Holt! Holt! _Hurrah! _"

Holt lifted up his head proudly at that and went forward, not as a man goes who is ashamed before his fellow men. His bearing was of one who dares to face others, a "gentleman, unafraid. " The shout died down in hushed surprise, and then rose on a higher wave that had in it something of the honor and respect his bearing had demanded. And so he came and knelt before her.

In all that wild, excited company only Eleanor Harrington sat unmoved.

"What are they shouting again for? " she asked her husband impatiently. "Isn't this thing almost over? I'm tired."

"They are calling Holt to come to the stand and receive the prize," said Harrington, under his breath, as if it were a bitter thing for him to see.

"How annoying! " said Eleanor, rising to look. "And I suppose Jean will have to present it. If I had foreseen any such thing as this I would have forbidden her to take such a prominent position. I think they have made altogether too much fuss over that creature already. It was an _impertinence_ in him to come to-day and he knew it. He oughtn't to be encouraged. I wonder you didn't take steps to have him put out at the start, James. But, James! There is one thing, Jean _must not_ ride around the track with him! I simply _will not have it_! You must go down there quickly and tell her not to. _Forbid_ it! Tell her to say she is sick or anything, only she must not ride with him. Quick! Go, James! or it will be too late! She won't have sense enough herself. It will be just like her to think she must, she is so afraid of hurting people's feelings. See, she is standing up with the wreath in her hands. Why don't you go?"

"Hush! " said Harrington, drawing his wife down into her seat again and speaking in a low tone: "Hush! Somebody will hear you. Don't you see she's got to go now? Don't you understand that public opinion will demand it? She'd be a fool to turn back now, she must go the whole show. Besides, I can't afford to get his ill-will, and if she didn't go with him Holt would know I had prevented her."

"You can't _afford_! " said his wife angrily. "You can't afford! " and she raised her voice in astonishment and dismay. "What do you mean? I thought you told me only a few days ago that you had him where he couldn't do you any more harm?"