Reivers, The - William Faulkner [98]
"Call him Mr McCaslin," Uncle Parsham said.
"Yes sir," McWillie said. "Mr McCaslin. You running him?"
"White man named Mr Hogganbeck is," Ned said. "We waiting on him now."
"Too bad you aint got something else besides Coppermine to wait with, that would maybe give Akron a race," McWillie said.
"I already told Mr Hogganbeck that, myself," Ned said. He swallowed. Without haste he lifted the bucket of buttermilk and drank, still without haste. McWillie watched him. He set the bucket down. "Set down and eat something," he said.
"Much obliged," McWillie said, "I done et. Maybe that's why Mr Hogganbeck's late, waiting to bring out that other horse."
"There aint time now," Ned said. "He'll have to run this one now. The trouble is, the only one around here that knows how to rate this horse, is the very one that knows better than to let him run behind. This horse dont like to be in front. He wants to run right behind up until he can see the finish line, and have something to run at. I aint seem him race yet, but I'd be willing to bet that the slower the horse in front of him goes, the more carefuller he is not to get out in front where he aint got no company—until he can see the finish line and find out it's a race he's in and run at it. All anybody got to do to beat him is to keep his mind so peaceful that when he does notice he's in a race, it's too late. Some day somebody gonter let him get far enough behind to scare him, then look out. But it wont be this race. The trouble is, the onliest one around here that knows that too, is the wrong one."
"Who's that?" McWillie said.
Ned took another bite. "Whoever's gonter ride that other horse today."
"That's me," McWillie said. "Dont tell me Uncle Posum and Lycurgus both aint already told you that."
"Then you oughter be talking to me instead," Ned said. "Set down and eat; Uncle Possum got plenty here."
"Much obliged," McWillie said again. "Well," he said. "Mr Walter'll be glad to know it aint nobody but Coppermine. We was afraid we would have to break in a new one. See yawl at the track." Then he was gone. But I waited another minute.
"But why?" I said.
"I dont know," Ned said. "We may not even need it. But if we does, we already got it there. You mind I told you this morning how the trouble with this race was, it had too many different things all mixed up in it? Well, this aint our track and country, and it aint even our horse except just in a borried manner of speaking, so we cant take none of them extra things out. So the next best we can do is, to put a few extry ones into it on our own account. That's what we just done. That horse up yonder is a thoroughbred paper horse; why aint he in Memphis or Louisville or Chicago running races, instead of back here in a homemade country pasture running races against whoever can slip in the back way, like us? Because why, because I felt him last night and he's weedy, like a horse that cant nothing catch for six furlongs, but fifty foot more and he's done folded up right under you before you knowed it. And so far, all that boy—"
"McWillie," I said.
"—McWillie has had to worry about is just staying on top of him and keeping him headed in the right direction; he's won twice now and likely he thinks if he just had the chance, he would run Earl Sande and Dan Patch both clean outen the horse business. Now we've put something else in his mind; he's got two things in it now that dont quite fit one another. So well just wait and see. And whilst we're waiting, you go over behind them bushes yonder and lay down and rest. Word's out now, and folks gonter start easing in and out of here to see what they can find out, and over there they wont worry you."
Which I did. Though not always asleep; I heard the voices: I wouldn't have needed to see them even if I had raised onto one elbow and opened one eye past a bush: the same overalls, tieless, the sweated hats, the chewing tobacco, squatting, unhurried,