The reality was different.  He was in Great Falls, but he had not ridden vaingloriously down Central Avenue surrounded by the Happy Family, and watched by the gaping populace.  Instead, he had chosen a side street and he had ridden alone, and no one had seemed to know or care who he might be.  His horse had not backed, wild-eyed, before an approaching car, and he had not done any pretty riding.  Instead, his horse had scarce turned an eye toward the jangling bell when he crossed the track perilously close to the car, and he had gone “side-wheeling” decorously down the street—­and Andy hated a pacing horse.  The Happy Family was in town, but he did not know where.  Andy kicked his horse into a gallop and swore bitterly that he did not care.  He did not suppose that they gave him a thought, other than those impelled by their jeopardized pockets.  And that, he assured himself pessimistically, is friendship!

He tied the hired horse to the fence and went away to the stables and fraternized with a hump-backed jockey who knew a few things himself about riding and was inclined to talk unprofessionally.  It was not at all as Andy had pictured the opening day, but he got through the time somehow until the crowd gathered and the racing began.  Then he showed himself in the crowd of “peelers” and their friends, as unconcernedly as he might; and as unobtrusively.  The Happy Family, he observed, was not there, though he met Chip face to face and had a short talk with him.  Chip was the only one, aside from the Old Man, who really understood.  Billy Roberts was there, and he greeted Andy commiseratingly, as one speaks to the sick or to one in mourning; the tone made Andy grind his teeth, though he knew in his heart that Billy Roberts wished him well—­up to the point of losing the contest to him, which was beyond human nature.  Billy Roberts was a rider and knew—­or thought he knew—­just how “sore” Andy must be feeling.  Also, in the kindness of his heart he tried blunderingly to hide his knowledge.

“Going up against the rough ones?” he queried with careful carelessness, in the hope of concealing that he had heard the tale of Andy’s disgrace.

“I sure am,” Andy returned laconically, with no attempt to conceal anything.

Billy Roberts opened his eyes wide, and his mouth a little before he recovered from his surprise.  “Well, good luck to yuh,” he managed to say, “only so yuh don’t beat me to it.  I was kinda hoping yuh was too bashful to get out and ride before all the ladies.”

Andy, remembering his days in the sawdust ring, smiled queerly; but his heart warmed to Billy Roberts amazingly.

They were leaning elbows on the fence below the grand stand, watching desultorily the endless preparatory manoeuvres of three men astride the hind legs of three pacers in sulkies.  “This side-wheeling business gives me a pain,” Billy remarked, as the pacers ambled by for the fourth or fifth time.  “I like caballos that don’t take all day to wind ’em up before they go.  I been looking over our bunch.  They’s horses in that corral that are sure going to do things to us twenty peelers!”