Chapter 15:

Hey, sorry it took so long, guys. All the chapters have been proofread and revised.

No one told me I was going to be so busy junior year!

–Anyway, here's the story! Enjoy!

Three days later, Race was "okayed" for surgery. The chances were slim, however, that he was going to make it. The doctor didn't feel comfortable moving him into the hospital, so Jack and Ryan prepared a place within the house for the doctor to operate in. The boys washed down the dining room table and layered clean, white blankets over it. This was to be the makeshift operating table. They lighted the room with candles and unshaded the windows by completely taking down curtains. Then, they took Tony down from the room and laid him across the table. The doctor set out all his operating utensils for the surgery. Before the boys left the room Jack asked, "How long?" he asked Dr. Bronnius and the assisting nurse.

"If all goes well, no less than an hour," he replied with a sympathetic grin. "Pray."

"Pray?"

"Pray. My operations go better with God on my side," explained the young doctor. Jack grinned and turned on his heal. Without any other words to say, he and Ryan left the room. They walked out of the house and onto the front porch.

"What do we do now?" asked Ryan. He rubbed the place his eye should have been, under his patch. He was exhausted, and sometimes he rubbed that spot as a sign of weariness. Nobody, not even he understood why he did that.

"Get to work, I guess. No use just standin' heah for an hour," Jack stated with a shrug. Without turning back to look at his brother, he walked ahead to the stable to feed his horses and milk his cow, leaving his brother to plow the fields...or something. Instead, Ryan just waited. He would later change his mind to work in the field a little bit, but first, he sat and waited. He couldn't work, knowing his friend could die on the operating table. Jack handled his worries differently. He had to distract himself. He didn't like to think about things. That explains a lot, doesn't it?

Back at the stable, Jack got to work milking the cow. By the time he was done sweat already began to dampen the back of his neck, and upon his brow. Then, he got to work with the horses. He fed them, then began to brush them down. After he finished the mare, Henrietta, he got to work on Caesar. Caesar was a uniquely colored pinto. He brushed him slowly. Stroke by stroke, Jack began to feel something inside him. His gut felt like it was turning. He ignored it and kept on brushing. Then, he felt it again. He still tried to ignore it, but it was getting harder and harder to ignore. Finally, Jack felt something rise up into his throat. He staggered out of the stall and released the bile out of his body. He used to throw up when he was overly apprehensive about something as a child. He never expected to handle his fear this way as an adult. It was this gross physical release that made Jack realize that he needed to release something emotionally.

Jack wasn't necessarily what you'd call a God-fearing man, but just then, he felt the need to pray. He bent down on his knees, looked up at the ceiling of the stable and folded his hands together.

"God, please. Please, I know that Tony and I ah probably not one of your favorite people dese days, but I gotta ax you...please...don't take him from me. Give him another chance! Please God! Be with that doctah in there. He used to be such a good kid. You know that. I know that kid is still in there somewhere. Please, let him live, God! Please."

"I hate to interrupt," said a voice from the door way. Jack turned around. There was a tall man, with eyes so similar to his own.

"Pop?"

"Son."

Jack ran to the older man. He looked good. He had on a new suit and a hat.

"How–"

"How did I get out? Or how did I find your house?"

"Both, I guess."

"Well, I young man came to visit me. He had his hat on low, and I wasn't able to see his face. He said he had evidence that I was innocent, and as soon as Frankie Diaz is dead, the evidence will reemerge and he would find a detective and a lawyer for me, and try to get me another hearing. Then he left. Six hours after the announcement of Diaz's death, I had a lawyer. Then, I was tried again and found innocent of all charges," explained Mr. Sullivan.

"What was da ev'dence?"

"Him."

"Him?"

"Indirectly, so, yes. He was interviewed by my lawyer, and the opposing lawyer, and the judge himself...just to get his testimony. This was after he was in jail. It was Anthony, Francis. Anthony was willing enough to free me. He said he was a witness and he had evidence that I wasn't a culprit, but a victim, and he gave the court a journal of Mr. Jacobs. He stole it, of course, but he gave it to the court and it was evidence enough that I never did anything illegal. His testimony and Jacobs's diary was enough to get my verdict repealed.

When I found out the state Little Tony was in, though, I would have went back to jail just to get him out."

"He wasn't in jail for you, Pop," explained Jack.

"No. I know. Just the same. I would give up my freedom for all three of you boys, just so you could have a normal life. I wish I could have done more for you kids, Frank."

"No, Pop–"

"Where's Ryan?"

"Pop?" Ryan shouted from the stable entrance.

Mr. Sullivan re-told the story to Ryan, who was dumbfounded. The boys then told Anthony's story to their father; and it was his turn to be dumbfounded. The three men sat on the porch, now.

"Pop, if I knew he had a diary...It would have been so easy to get...I just—"

"Yes, and you would have jeopardized your own family. Your wife's father. Anthony ransacked the house after he found out about his death. It was right before his funeral. He told me that as soon as he got into town he found the Jacobs' house and rummaged through, everything. I still don't know if he knew there was a diary in the first place or if he was just rummaging, relentlessly, trying to find answers and he just happened to come upon the diary," explained Mr. Sullivan, leaning back on the rocking chair.

"But how'd you find Jack's house here in Sante Fe?" asked Ryan. He was sitting on the porch steps, fiddling with a carving knife and a block of wood.

"Anthony gave me directions," he explained before yawning. "So what is Anthony planning on doing upon recovery?"

"Probably continue running. He has no choice. He will never be free," Ryan stated with a look of sorrow and pity for his friend. Ryan looked bedraggled. He also knew his father kept staring at his eyepatch. He'd tell his story about that some other time.

Jack leaned back against his own chair and smiled. Any grudge he had against Anthony was gone, now. He freed his father, and that was a debt that Jack could never repay. Anthony brought his family back together. In a week, his wife would come back with his child and maybe Ryan would stay, and his father could live with them. Jack would finally have a family again. This made his smile broaden. It was taken away, however, with one thought. But what about Race?

"He'll figure out somthin'. He always does," replied Jack, with a reassuring smile. Jack stretched out his arms, flexing his muscles. He concentrated on each muscle, one at a time on each arm, until he knew each muscle was completely relaxed. Then, he placed his hands behind his head. His hair was getting too long for his liking. He needed a trim. It was a while since he had a haircut. He liked to have Sarah do it. He didn't like the barber in town. His name was Oscar. He only knew one other Oscar and he didn't like him that much, either. There was another person in town he didn't particularly like. His boss. His boss loved him. He always called him funny. "You're a funny kid, Sullivan." Jack changed his name back to Sullivan when he got married, but everyone who knew him as Jack still called him Jack. Even Ryan still called him Jack. It was what everyone was used to. Here in town, people only knew him as Frank or Francis. It took him a while to get used to his own name.

Jack looked over at Ryan. His shirt was wrapped around his head. Jack assumed he was protecting his head from the sun, but risked the rest of his body, getting burned. As a result, Ryan already started to get a nice golden color along his back and shoulders. Ryan was sitting on the porch step, leaning against a pillar that connected the roof to the porch. The porch rapped around the whole front part of the house. Ryan said once that if he settled down out of the city one day, he wanted a house with a wrap around porch like this one. Ryan took the shirt off of his head to scratch it. He pulled his hand away and looked under his nails at the snow-white dandruff flakes under his nails. He always had problems with dry skin. His scalp was no exception. He sighed. Oh, well. He hoped his kids didn't have problems like this. Then he thought, But who cares if they do? Honestly! There are a lot more problems to be worrying about. Worse than skin problems, anyway. Its just annoying, though. Purely annoying.

Jack chuckled to himself, at the look on his brother's face at the sight of whatever it was, under his nails. Then he looked at his father, who was smiling at him. He smiled back.

"I love you, Pop," he said. His father smiled even wider.

"I love you, too, son. I love you boys...even that little rascal in there," he pointed with his thumb at the house, where Anthony was still under the knife.

"Do you think Pulitzer will listen to our demands?" Jack asked Race. They were both walking back to the lodging house. He, Blink, and Racetrack spent the day at the tracks. They each placed a tiny bet on a horse called Snowball. It ended up that they one and they put all their winnings together to buy a meal at Tibby's

"Why ah you askin' me, Jack? You stahted dis whole t'ing. Now you have doubts?"

"Nah, its not dat, Racetrack. I just wanna heah what you think," replied Jack looking ahead at the distance between where they were at that moment and the lodging house. They still had about two blocks to go.

"I t'ink dat if he don't listen, I'm packing my bags and getting my ass outa heah. You, me, and Blink. We'll go to Santa Fe and work on a ranch," Race said with a chuckle. The other boys smiled at the thought.

"We'll always be friends, right?" asked Blink.

"Suah, Blinky. Why?" asked Race, a bit confused.

"I just...well we've been friends forever, and sometimes friends drift apart. I never want that to happen to us," replied Blink. He was always the thoughtful member of the trio. Racetrack flashed him one of his crooked smiles.

"We ain't just friends, Blink. We's family. Nothin'll teah us apaht. Ain't dat right, Jacky-boy?" Race said with a quick grin, and without waiting for an answer, he stole the cigar that was hanging from Jack's lip and ran up the street.

"Hey, Race! Give dat back! Dat's mine! Hey!" Jack yelled as he ran after him. Blink struggled along behind him; he was having trouble keeping up, for he was laughing so hard.

Anthony woke up with an immense pain in his chest. It hurt so bad, he moaned, unable to scream. It felt like someone lost something in his chest and was looking for it with some cold metal...thing. He slowly opened his eyes and saw two masked bodies hovering over him. Neither looked like anyone he recognized. One of the bodies looked at him and her eyes widened. "He's awake, Doctor."

Doctor? He lowered his chine to look at his chest. It was open. He screamed. His pain seemed to get worse by the second.

"Get some ether, quick!" the doctor yelled. Before Tony could plead, "Please don't kill me," the nurse put a mask type thing over his face and poured a few drops of something on the top. He made the mistake of breathing in the smelly substance and then he felt like he was flying for a minute. Then he was asleep.

"What a poor young man," the nurse sighed. She brushed Tony's hair out of his perspiring face. His breathing was ragged and the nurse could tell he was in pain, even though he was in a deep sleep. The doctor knew that he would have to work fast or he might lose his patient.

Back outside, Jack, Ryan, and their father set up a card game as they waited for the operation to end. It was a terrifying period. Jack couldn't concentrate on his cards, and Ryan was jittery. Their father was silent and patient. Eventually, they just gave up with the card playing and sat in silence. Jack wondered if Tony was better off dead. His brother was right, What if he never stops running. If he's caught by the bulls he's dead, anyway. He covered his face in frustration. Ryan looked over at him and understood exactly what he was thinking. He looked back down at his feet. Mr. Sullivan, who had previously collected all the playing cards that weren't being played and began to shuffle them out of boredom. It saddened him that such a good boy like Anthony must live this way. It didn't make any sense at all.

After another hour of waiting on the porch, Jack stood up and paced for another five minutes. He walked back and forth, from one end of the wrap around to the other. After five minutes he stopped and said under his breath, "They should have been done by now."

Ryan scrunched up his nose. They were so close to where the operation was taking place, they could smell the blood. The moisture in the air helped the smell travel. Sometimes Jack would peer in the window to try and get a look, but the doctor's body was in the way. He did see a lot of blood and that made him nauseous. Ryan remained still during the duration of the operation.

After another dreadfully long thirty minutes later, the doctor appeared on the porch and asked, "Could one of you boys help me lift him to his room. Jack volunteered. Ryan seemed to be paralyzed from where he sat. Jack went inside and saw his friend as pale as snow on the dining room table.

"I have a stretcher that we could use to carry him into his room," whispered Dr. Bronnius. He did not want to wake up his patient. He bent down and picked up a stretcher that was leaning against the doorway. Jack helped the doctor carefully move Anthony, who was lain at the center of the table, to one side of the table so they could place the stretcher beside him. Once that was done, Jack helped the doctor use the sheets that Anthony was laying upon to lift him up onto the stretcher. After that, Jack grabbed the end nearest Tony's head, and the doctor grabbed the other end. They slowly carried Anthony to his room and helped him onto the bed. Jack pulled the bed sheets up to Tony's chest. Dr. Bronnius turned toward the door and began to walk out. Jack was reluctant to follow, but he did, leaving his friend alone in the bedroom. They left the house and entered the porch. Dr. Bronnius began to strip off his bloody operation gown, revealing a clean suit underneath. The nurse was still inside cleaning up. The doctor inhaled deeply, then exhaled.

"The operation was more difficult than I thought. I don't know if we waited long enough for the swelling to go down. We almost lost him. There is no guarantee that he will live through the week. Don't give him any solids to eat. It will be best if he stuck with tea, water, and chicken broth. I will check on him once a day. I'm sorry I couldn't do anything more," replied the doctor in a weary voice.

"You've done enough, Doctah," Jack said, with gratitude shining through his eyes. Even if Race did not survive the week, the doctor gave him a small chance of survival. The doctor nodded, accepting Jack's "thanks". "Would you like to stay foah dinnah?"

"Nah. I should get home to my wife. Good luck, boys. I'm sorry...I–"

"Don't be sorry," Ryan finally spoke up. He stood from his sitting position and shook the Doctor's hand, then went inside, just as the nurse was coming out. He walked through the dining room and saw blood that would be forever stained on the table. He knew that if Tony's blood seeped through all those sheets and into the wooden table, a lot of blood was lost. He made his way into the room that Tony was residing in and saw, not Tony...not his Racetrack, but a sickly figure lying in a bed. He looked like a ghost with really dark hair. Ryan walked toward him and grabbed his hand and bent down next to the bed. There was a chair next to him, but he didn't notice. He knelt beside the bed and held Race's hand. He put his hand to his face, so Race could feel his tears. To Ryan, Tony would never stop being Race.

"I hate you!" he cried. "I hate you! I hate you! I HATE YOU! YOU BASTARD! I HATE YOU! Look at what you did to yourself, Race. You could have been something. You could have been somebody! You could have been a jockey. You wanted to be a jockey, remember? Remember Jerry? You remember him, don'cha? You lost all that! It's all your fault! You did this to yourself! You stupid bastard! You're an idiot, Race! You know that? You're an idiot! I hate you!"

But Anthony did survive the week. He survived the month. Then he just survived. He worked as a ranch hand for Jack, alongside Ryan and Mr. Sullivan. He had to change his name, again. He was now William Galazzo, his mother's maiden name. However, Jack, Ryan, and Sarah (who was back on the ranch now with their child, Francis Jr.) still called him Racetrack. Even Mr. Sullivan had taken to calling him by that name.

Anthony stayed with Jack and Ryan, and their family (Ryan's family, who had lived up in New York if you remember, came up to Sante Fe to live with him in a house close to Jack's). Race built a house, with the help of Ryan, Jack, and Mr. Sullivan, right next to Jack's, and they shared the ranch for as long as Race resided there.

The ranch turned out to be very profitable.

Racetrack never found a wife, for he was still in love with a certain woman who was married to a certain famous jockey. Every woman he got involved with, he compared to her. No one was able to measure up. Despite this, Racetrack was happy. He ended up keeping in touch with Jerry and his wife. The were doing well, and that was good enough to make Racetrack happy. That, my friends, is how you know you're really in love: when you're happy just knowing that your loved one is happy, no matter what.

Racetrack lived peacefully with the Sullivan's for five years, even going to church with them on Sundays (Sarah made them go). He enjoyed it. He enjoyed this life. However, after five years, he was discovered and was forced on the road, once again, trying to hide from the bulls. After another year of this, Jack read in the paper that Race had put a gun to his head and ended his life, but not before mailing him a box, containing Race's pocket watch.

Race's funeral was held in New York. It was Race's home; it always was. The ceremony was beautiful and all of Race's friends were there. There was not one dry eye in the house.

Race's life became legendary. Books were made about the famous outlaw. One special series was written by a famous journalist, Brian Denton. He called it, The Legend of the Great Racetrack Higgins. There were six books in the series, the second one contained the famous 1899 Newsies Strike. He titled it The Legend of the Great Racetrack Higgins: The King of New York. The last book even contained several pictures of Racetrack, including his tombstone that read:

"Anthony Daniel 'Racetrack' Higgins

A loyal friend and overall great guy

Your life was full of adventure

We hope you find as much adventure

After life.

Good Bye Racetrack".

Goodbye Racetrack Higgins.

The End!

I hope you all liked it. I know the whole weird wound thing was...well...weird...

These things don't come out of my head all the time, I guess I was feeling creative that day.

I hope the ending was okay. This is the first story I actually finished on