Luck

Billy Kane had qualified Wheelman in the last one-hour open all-age run before the National Championship entries closed. He had not expected to. The first qualifying win had come two seasons before, and he had not expected that one either. Won it when the best dog’s brace-mate failed to back and it went with the thief after the birds. But here he was approaching the Ames Plantation, never expecting to be here. But his usual bad luck returned.

His partner on the circuit, with whom he traded scouting, was he learned on arrival in Memphis General Hospital, victim of an attack of appendicitis. So he had no scout. He asked around among fellow handlers and had a couple lined up, but he could not be sure of either until after the drawing. They would only be able to scout for him if their draws did not conflict.

When the draw finished Saturday night he had no scout. One of his prospects to scout would handle Wheelman’s brace-mate in the final brace. The other drew an early brace so would be going home early. Well, at least I’ve got some time to find a scout, he thought as he left the drawing for the Collierville motel where he would stay until Wheelman’s owner arrived on Tuesday (the owner had rented a farmhouse and stable near Grand Junction and Billy would join him there).

He rode the first Monday’s braces to size up the courses. Birds were not moving and all four dogs were up before their second hour ended. Grim. He decided not to ride the second day, instead to road Wheelman after lunch at the farm where the owner was schedule to arrive before dark. He still had no prospects to scout for him.

That night the owner, Sam Johnson, took Billy to supper at a steak house at Holly Springs where by chance they ran into a retired handler they knew from a decade earlier. When they explained their scouting dilemma, he volunteered, “My old scout Johnny Blevins works as a hunt guide part-time at a commercial place near here, give him a call and he may be able to help you. He knows every inch of the Ames Plantation.” He gave Billy the number.

Billy remembered Johnny, one of the last black scouts in the game. The “helpin’ each other” system, brought on by economic necessity, had destroyed the livelihoods of employee-scouts, black and white.

Wednesday Billy called Johnny. He said he would be delighted to scout Wheelman. He had two horses. Better still, he had access to a place Billy could work Wheelman and road him in preparation, get him acclimated to scenting conditions at the Ames Plantation.

Billy met Johnny at seven AM at the farm where they would work Wheelman. “Tell me what I need to know ‘bout yo’ dog,” Johnny said. Billy decided to be totally truthful.

“ He has one hole, but a big one. He is not a three hour dog. Two hours forty minutes down and he is done.”

“Most is,” was Johnny’s only comment.

They worked Wheelman an hour, then roaded him thirty minutes. They would road him forty minutes every other day until his appointed day the second week.

Billy and Johnny stayed together for lunch or met for breakfast each day. Johnny picked the places. Billy was the only white person present at each. By the time Wheelman’s day to run came, the two were fast friends. Johnny was filled with nostalgia, Billy with wishes he had handled in Johnny’s days on the circuit.

Wheelman’s day dawned slightly overcast, a high of fifty-five F was predicted. It was 45 F at breakaway. At an hour and a half Wheelman had carded four finds and was keeping the front at good range, handling responsively. Johnny had found him dug in on the edge on two of his four finds.

At two hours, Wheelman’s absences began to lengthen a bit, but after each he showed at the front advantageously. Billy suspected Johnny was working magic, but he was never seen at his work after he drifted into trees on an edge well behind the judges.

At 2:40 Wheelman was found pointed thirty yards inside an edge by Johnny and all was in order. It was his seventh, all stylish, no relocations required, no unproductives. The gallery was silent, only the muted clomp of hooves and the tinkle of curb chains could be heard.

Billy and Johnny watered Wheelman and prepared for Johnny to release him. Johnny whispered, “Just ride in front of the judges and sing, don’t let on you don’t got him.”

Wheelman disappeared to the front, on course. Minutes ticked off the judges’ stop watches. Ten minutes after Johnny released him, Billy’s arm shot up. He had glimpsed Wheelman briefly on the right edge far ahead. “Got him,” Billy heard the senior judge say, a touch of excitement in his voice.

With three minutes remaining, Wheelman appeared on the right woods edge ahead, and took it forward. At time he was three hundred yards ahead, still reaching at good speed, and had ducked into woods with a half minute remaining.

“Pick him up.” Billy heard the senior judge say in a whisper, awe in his voice. Billy spurred his mount to a canter and rode forward for his dog. Johnny was unseen but soon had Wheelman on his rope and rode into the field two hundred yards ahead of where the judges sat their still mounts so they could see Wheelman.

An hour later the Secretary announced from the porch of the Ames Manor House, “Wheelman is this year’s National Champion.”

Applause erupted among the large gathering. Congratulations abounded, hands were shaken, Wheelman was led forward, pictures taken, then the crowd began to disburse.

Wheelman’s owner had asked Billy to ask Johnny to meet them after the crowd dispersed in the tack room of the Ames barn for a private chat.

First the owner handed Johnny a white envelope containing twenty one hundred dollar bills, crisp and newly printed.

“Mr. Blevins, would you consider an offer from me to pay you to travel the circuit next year with Billy as his scout and assistant? Your pay is negotiable,” Wheelman’s owner said.

A look of joy passed over Johnny’s face, then a look of sadness.

“Mr. Johnson, there is nothing I would rather do, but my wife has dementia and I got to stay home and take care of her.”

Driving home alone to Georgia, Wheelman on the seat beside him, Billy thought, luck comes in two versions, bad and good. I’ve just had a big shot of good. From now on when I have a streak of bad I’m going to remember Johnny Blevins and the miracle he worked with you, Wheelman.