In the meantime, having settled things with the Red Heron, for the time being, anyway, Miss Sara Belle Fontaine, gathered up her discarded finery and repaired to her cabin. A few minutes later, having taken a powder of white willow bark for her aching head, she reappeared as the Belle of Baton Rouge she truly was. Softly fluttering an ostrich feather fan in one hand, she settled in a deck chair to watch the race, sipping mint julep like the lady she was raised to be, yet...there lingered a smouldering fire in her eyes, an aura of barely contained energy.

"Why, Ah nevah, Capt. Catspaugh, darlin'! Ah do believe ya'll have a real chance at winnin' this race, honey! Tsk! Ya'll keep helpin' the Capt. there. We wouldn't want thet harridan to beat out our beloved Catspaugh, now would we?",her words held an implied menace for anyone who didn't choose to help.