Bred of the Desert Part 7

you to coom help me. But you haf steal seex dolars. I'm forgettin'

thot--not! And if you say soomt'ing to s...o...b..dy soomtime, I'm havin' you arrested, Franke, for a t'ief and a robber--same as I ought to arrest thot Pedro Garcia oop in the canyon."

Franke maintained discreet silence. But not for long. Evidently he suddenly thought of a point in his own favor.

"You' havin' good luck thees time, Felipe," he declared, tranquilly, "especially," he hastened to add, "when I'm t'inkin' of thee halter.

Without thee halter, you know, you don' gettin' thees _caballo_."

Felipe ignored this. "I haf need a horse," he went on, thoughtfully.

"Thee mot'er of thees black fel'r--you know, thot's thee mot'er--she's gettin' old all time. She's soon dyin', thot _caballo_. Thees black horse he's makin' a fine one in thees wagon." Franke said nothing. Nor did Felipe speak again. And thus, in silence, they continued across the mesa and on up the canyon to the little adobe in the settlement. Arrived before the house, Franke quickly disappeared in the direction of his home, leaving Felipe to unhitch and unharness alone. But Felipe cared nothing for this. He was supremely happy--happy in the return of the long-lost colt, doubly happy in the possession of so fine a horse without outlay of money. Whistling blithely, he unhitched the team, led them back into the corral, returned to the wagon again. Here, still whistling, he untied the black and escorted him also into the inclosure.

Then, after scratching his head a long moment in thought, he set out in the direction of the general store and a bottle of _vino_.

As the man disappeared, Pat, standing uncertainly in the middle of the corral, followed him with a look in his eyes that hinted of vague memories that would not down. And well he might be flicked with vague memories. For he was at last returned to the brief cradle of his babyhood.

Late that same afternoon, Helen, attired in riding-habit, left the house for her first afternoon canter. As she slowly crossed the _patio_, she noted the absence of Pat from his usual corner, but, a.s.suming that he was inside the stable, called to him from the gate. But she received no answering whinny. Slightly worried, she entered the corral and stepped to the stable door, and again sounded his name. Again she received no answering whinny. She entered the stable, walked past the stalls, peered in at each with increasing alarm. Only the saddle-horse and the family horse met her troubled eyes. She stood for a moment dismayed, then once more she sounded the horse's name. But, as before, she received no answering whinny.

Puzzled, perplexed, troubled with misgivings, yet refusing to believe the worst, she fell to a.n.a.lyzing the thing. She knew that since coming to the ranch Pat at no time had been outside the corral save in her charge. Also she recalled that only a short hour or two before she had given him sweets and had talked with him. Nor could the horse have strayed out of the inclosure, because she remembered that the gate was latched when she had reached it. All these facts flashed across her as she stood with grave eyes sweeping the stable. Finally she stepped back to the door and gazed out into the sunlight of the corral; but, as before, the inclosure was empty and silent, and now, somehow, forbidding. She called again--called to the horse, called to the Mexican. But again came only the echo of her voice, sounding hollow and solemn and plaintive through the stable.

Suddenly her heart stopped beating. She remembered that the hostler had left for town on foot early in the morning. And now her fears broke bounds. The horse was gone! Some one had come in Miguel's absence. Her Pat had been stolen! He was gone for ever out of her life! Standing a moment, trembling with bitterness, she darted out of the stable, out of the corral, across the _patio_. She sped into the house and her father's study, caught up the receiver of the telephone.

And then, after a long time, the connection. And her father's voice. And her frantic inquiry. And the Judge's smiling reply. And her recital of the facts--pleading, pitiful, almost whimpering. And now the Judge's serious rejoinder. And then her imperious request that he come home. And the Judge's regretful reply--could not on account of pressing matters.

And then her tearful, choking outburst into the transmitter! And now suddenly the wires crossing and a strange voice demanding that she get off. And with it her utter collapse. She whirled away from the telephone, flung herself down upon a couch, and gave way to a wild outburst of tears.

The thing _was_ pitiful. The horse had occupied a very big place in her life. And because that place now was empty, and because she saw no promise of its ever being filled, she sobbed wretchedly a long time.

Then, rising quietly, she ascended the stairs to her room. Here she sank into a chair, one that overlooked the corral, and began an a.n.a.lysis of the case, taking the affair up from the very first day of Pat's coming into her life. She did not go further than that. Woman that she was, endowed with strongest intuitions and insight, she knew she had sounded the mystery of his disappearance, had sounded it as clearly as though she had been present.

"Pat's rightful owners have found him and put in their claim!" She got up and began to pace the floor. "I know it," she declared with conviction. "I know it as well as I know I'm in this room. Pat--Pat has been--been taken and--and--" Tears choked back her words. Again she turned to her bed and gave way to a paroxysm of grief.

Her tears lasted until sleep mercifully descended. And thus she lay, outstretched and disheveled, until the sun, slanting across the room, settled its mellow rays upon her. And even though the touch was light and gentle and somehow sympathetic, it awoke her. She rose and hurried to a window. Out in the corral all was quiet. She dropped into a chair and turned her eyes to the east--out over the mesa to the distant mountains. The mountains were draped in their evening purple, which seemed to her like mourning for her lost happiness--a happiness that might have been hers always with the horse.

CHAPTER IX

THE SECOND GREAT LESSON

Next morning Pat, imprisoned in a tiny stable, tried to get out by thrusting his head against the door. But the door would not give. Alone in semi-darkness, therefore, he spent the day. Twice a Mexican youth came to feed and water him, but always the quant.i.ty was insufficient, and always the boy carefully locked the door after him. Because of this, together with the poor ventilation, Pat became irritable. He longed for the freedom of the big corral--its sunlight, the visits of his mistress--but these were steadfastly denied him. And so through another night and another day, until he became well-nigh distracted. He stamped the floor, fought flies, dozed, dreamed strange dreams, stamped the floor again. After three days of this, sounds outside told him of the return of man and horses. But not till the next morning, and then quite late, was he released from the odious confinement.

Felipe bustled in, all eager for business. He drove his recent acquisition out into the corral and set to work harnessing one of the team--the mate of the aged mare. When she was bridled and standing in the trail in front of his empty wagon, he hurriedly returned to the new horse, placed a bridle upon his head, led him forth, and swung him close beside the other horse. He winced just a little at the incongruity of the team, though he did not let it delay him. He picked up the half of the harness and tossed it over the mare's back. Then he caught up the other half, and, preparing to toss it upon the black, began to straighten out deep and unexpected tangles.

"Well, you black devil," he began, as he twisted and turned the much-bepatched harness, "you doin' soom work now! All you' life you havin' mooch good times! Eet is not for thee fun thot you live, you know?" he went on, academically, continuing to disentangle the harness.

"Eet is for thee work thot you live! Work--thot's thee answer!" Then, having straightened the harness at last, with a grunt of satisfaction he tossed it lightly up.

Instantly there was wild commotion. With a kick and a plunge the horse flung off the harness.

Felipe stood dumfounded. It had never occurred to him that the horse was not broken to harness. Horses reared as this one evidently had been reared ought certainly to be educated to all kinds of service. Yet this horse evidently was not. He scratched his head in perplexity. To break a horse to harness was no child's play, as he well knew. To break a horse of this character to harness, as he well understood also, was a task that required exceptional patience and hardihood. What should he do?

There was his constant press for money. The aged mare having almost dropped in the trail the evening before, was unfit for toil, and to break a horse to harness meant loss of time, and, as every one knows, loss of time meant loss of money. So what should he do? He was utterly at a loss.

Striding to the doorstep, he sat down and regarded the horse with malevolent disgust. After a time, jerking off his hat savagely, he burst out into a thundering tirade.

"You black devil! You haf give me more trouble than anyt'ing I haf ever own--chickens, burro, pigs, horses, money--money, even--money I haf owe thot robber Pedro! First you haf run away thot time! Then you haf mek me steal you out of thot place couple days before! And now"--he suddenly leaped to his feet--"now you haf mek me break you to thees wagon and harness!" He advanced to the startled horse and brandished his fist.

"But I break you!" he snarled--"I break you like a horse never was broke before! And--and if I don' break you--if you don' do what I haf say--I break every bone inside!" With this he began feverishly to peel off his coat.

And this is the lot of the dumb. Merely for not knowing what a man believed he should know, Pat was to be humiliated, was to be punished far beyond justice and decency. And because he was a horse abnormally highstrung and sensitive, this punishment was to be doubly cruel. To him a blow was more painful than to the average horse, even as a word of kindness sank deeper and remained longer to soften his memory. On his maternal side he was the offspring of native stock, but he was blooded to the last least end of him, and while from his mother he had inherited his softer traits, like his affection for those who showed affection for him, it was from his sire, unknown though he was, that he inherited an almost human spirit of rebellion when driven by lash or harsh word, and also the strength to exercise it. In the face of these qualities, then, he was to be broken to harness and a wagon by a man!

Felipe lost little time in preparation. He set out through the settlement, his destination a distant and kindly neighbor. He moved at a stride so vigorous that the good townspeople, roused by the rare spectacle of a man in a hurry, interrupted their pa.s.sive loafing beside well and in doorway, and turned wondering eyes after him. But if their eyes showed wonderment at his going, on his return they showed amazement and a kind of horror. For Felipe, acting for once in the capacity of work-horse, was straining along at the end of a huge wagon-tongue affixed to a crude and mastodonic axle which in turn supported two monolithic cart-wheels. It was a device by which he meant to break the horse to harness, and, perspiring freely, and swearing even more freely, he dragged it shrieking for grease through the settlement, really at work, but work which was not to be admired. Reaching the clearing in front of his house, he dropped the heavy tongue and whipped out a red handkerchief with a sigh of relief. Also, as he wiped away the perspiration on his forehead and neck and arms, he turned baleful eyes upon the innocent cause of his toil.

"You black devil!" he growled, after a moment. "I feex you now--bet you'

life! And you can keeck--and keeck and keeck! You don' worry thees cart mooch! You black devil!"

Then he became active again. He strode back into the corral, sought out an old harness and a huge collar, and dragged them forward into the trail. Flinging them aside in the direction of the cart, he then turned to the mare, removed the work-harness from her, and led her into position before the warlike vehicle. Again perspiring freely, but losing no breath now in abusive talk, he quickly harnessed her up and then strode forward to the black. After eying him narrowly a moment, he seized his bridle and led him back alongside the mare, where he proceeded nervously to harness him.

"We see now," he began, as he picked up the ma.s.sive collar. "You can stond still--thot's right! And maybe you can take thees t'ing--we see!"

The collar was much too large for workaday use, but it was not too large for this purpose. Its very size gave it freedom to pa.s.s over the head without the usual twisting and turning. Nor did the horse rebel when it was so placed--a fact which gave Felipe much relief, since he now believed that he would not have the trouble he had antic.i.p.ated. Also, with the collar in position, he was but a moment in adjusting the hames, making fast the bottom strap, and hooking the tugs securely. With everything in readiness he then caught up the reins and the whip, and stepped away to begin the real work of breaking.

"_Haya!_" he cried, and touched up the off-horse. She started forward, as always with this command from her master. But she did not go far.

Pat was the cause of the delay. Understanding neither the contraption at his heels, nor the word of command from the man, he held himself motionless and pleasantly uninterested, gazing slowly about at the landscape. Nor did he offer to move when the man cut him viciously with the whip. The lash pitted his tender flesh and hurt mightily; but even though he now understood what was required of him, he only became stubborn--bracing his legs and flattening his ears, forcefully resisting the counter efforts of the mare beside him.

And this was his nature. Long before he had demonstrated that he would not be governed by a whip. That day in the Richardses' corral, when he was broken to saddle, cruelty alone would never have conquered him.

Cruelty there had been, and much of it; but with the cruelty there had been other things--evidence of affection at the right moment, both in his mistress and in the men about him, and these, coupled with quick understanding, had made the breaking a success. And had there been evidence of kindness now, somewhere revealed early by this man, Pat might have drawn the cart as the straining mate at his side was attempting to draw it. But there was no evidence of kindness, and as a result he remained stubborn and wilful, standing braced and trembling, true in every particular to the spirit of his forebears.

Nor was Felipe less true to the spirit within himself. Infuriated, uncompromising, believing this to be merely the cussedness natural with the native horses, he abandoned all hope of instant success and gave way to brutality. Dropping the reins and reversing the whip in his hands, he began to beat the horse unmercifully, bringing the heavy b.u.t.t down again and again, each mighty thwack echoing down the canyon. The result was inevitable. The horse began to kick--straight back at first, then, finding his hoofs striking the cart, he swung sideways to the tongue and kicked straight out. This last was sudden, and narrowly missed Felipe, who leaped to one side. Then, unable to reach the horse with the b.u.t.t, he reversed the whip again and resumed his first torture, that of pitting the legs of the horse with the lash.

"Keeck!" he snarled, continuing to swing the whip. "Keeck! Keeck! I can keeck, too!" He swung his arm till it ached, when he stopped.

Whereupon the horse settled down. But his eyes were ablaze and he was trembling all over. Also, while undoubtedly suffering added distress from the taut and binding traces, he continued to stand at right angles to the mare--head high, nostrils quivering, mouth adrip with white slaver--until the spirit of rebellion appeared to grip him afresh. With a convulsive heave he moved again, making another quarter turn, which brought him clear of the tongue and facing the vehicle. Then he set up a nervous little prancing, whisking his tail savagely, now and again lifting his heels as if to strike. That was all. He gained no ground forward, nor did it appear as if he would ever move forward.

"You--you--" began Felipe, then subsided, evidently too wrathful for words. And he remained silent, gazing wearily toward the settlement, as though about to call a.s.sistance.

The stillness was heavy and portentous. Both horses were motionless.

Felipe continued silent. Off toward the settlement all was still.

Overhead, the early-morning sky pressed low, spotless and s.h.i.+mmering, brooding. Around and about, the flies seemed to stop buzzing. Everywhere lurked the quiet. The earth appeared bowed in humiliation, hushed in prayer as for the unfortunate one, while up and down the trail, basking in world-old light, lay dust of centuries, smug and contented in its quiescence. All nature was still, gripped in tense quiet.

The crack of a whip broke it. Felipe, suddenly bestirring himself, had sprung forward and dealt the horse a blow with the b.u.t.t. Across the nose, it had sounded hollow and distant; and the horse, whipping up his head in surprised pain, now turned upon the man a look at once sorrowful and terrible, a look which spelled death and destruction. Nor did he only look. With a strange outcry, shrill and piercing, awaking the canyon in unnatural echoes, he whirled in his harness and reared, reared despite his harness, and struck out with venomous force. It was quick as a lightning flash, but, quick as it was, Felipe avoided it. And it was fortunate that he did. Terror-stricken and dropping the whip, he sped to the rear, to a point behind the cart, and there turned amazed eyes at the pirouetting horse.

What manner of horse was this, he asked himself. Could it be that this horse, black as night, was truly of the lower regions? Certainly he looked it, balancing there on his hind legs, with his reddened eyes and inflamed nostrils! And--But what was this? From the corral had come a shrill nicker, the voice of the aged mare. But that was not it! With the outcry, seemingly an answer to the black's maddened outcry, the black dropped to all-fours again, turning quick ears and eyes in the direction of the sound! What manner of horse was this, anyway? Never before had he seen such a horse! He felt himself go limp.

There is a call in nature that sounds for life against death. It is a call put forth in innumerable different tongues around the world, and it sounds somewhere every second of the day and darkness--through jungles, across swamps, down mountains, over plains, out of valleys. It is a cry of warning, a cry to disarm foes. It is an outcry of good as against evil--the squawk of a hen to her chicks, the bleat of a sheep to her lambs, the grunt of a sow to her sucklings, the bellow of a cow to her calf, the purr of a cat to her kittens, the whine of a dog to her puppies, the drum of a partridge to her young. A cry from the heart to the heart, an appeal of flesh to its own flesh, it is the world-old mother-call.

And the horse heard this call. He probably did not recognize in it a call of the mother-heart, any more than it was possible for the aged mare to recognize in his outcry the voice of her own flesh. What he did hear, no doubt, was the voice of a friend, one who understood and pitied, and would help if it could help. At any rate, he stood very still, seemingly grateful for the evidence of a champion, seemingly anxious that it sound again. But it did not sound again. Yet he made no further effort to give battle. He held to his att.i.tude of intent listening, ears c.o.c.ked forward and eyes straining and tail at rest, until Felipe, stung into action by an idea wrought out of all this, hastened out from behind the cart and away in the direction of the corral. At sight of him the horse became restless again, squaring himself once more to the mare, stamping his feet and champing his bit nervously. He seemed to lose all recollection of the outcry, all the peace it had engendered within him. Of such are the kingdom of the dumb.

Possessed by his idea, an idea so brilliant that he himself marveled, Felipe was not long in putting it to test. He hurriedly bridled the aged mare and led her out into the trail. He placed her alongside the black--for reasons which, had the _compadre_ Franke been present, Felipe might have suggested with a crafty wink--then hastily began to unhitch the team-mate. And it was just here that he proved his foresight. In the work of unhitching the mate, he should have encountered, and had expected, trouble from the black. But he did not.

The mare sounded another friendly nicker when arranged beside him, and the black, p.r.i.c.king up his ears sharply, turned to her and proceeded to establish his friends.h.i.+p by licking her. So Felipe did not meet with difficulty from that direction; nor did he have trouble in the direction of the team-mate herself. She seemed glad to be relieved from her unsuccessful task, and Felipe, glad to relieve her in the light of his brilliant idea, led her off to one side quickly, then returned and swung the old mare into her place. He hitched her up, picked up the reins and whip, and set about with his test.

"We see now," he began, his voice quiet and encouraging. "Maybe you work wit' thee old woman! We see!" And he gave a low command.