Bred of the Desert, Charles Marcus Horton [classic reads txt] 📗

natural thing, though without display of pride. “Everybody likes it down here.”

He looked at her hesitatingly. “You’re not from the outside, then?”

“No,” she rejoined. “I am a native.”

He showed restless curiosity now. “Tell me,” he began, engagingly, “about this country. What, for instance, must one do, must one be, to–to be–well, to be accepted as a native!” He said this much as one feeling his way among a people new to him, as if, conscious of the informal nature of their meeting, he would ease that informality, yet did not know precisely how.

Yet Helen found herself quite comfortable in his society now, and, permitting herself great freedom, she spoke almost with levity.

“You have asked me a difficult question,” she said. “Offhand I should say you must ride every morning, sleep some part of the early afternoon, and–oh, well, ride the next morning again, I reckon.” And she smiled across at him. “Are you thinking of staying with us?”

He nodded soberly. Then he went on. “What else must one do?” he asked. “Is that all?” His eyes were still twinkling.

Helen herself was sober now. “No,” she replied, “not quite. One must think a little, work a little, do a little good. We are very close together down here–very close to one another–and very, very far from the rest of the world. So we try to make each day register something of value, not alone for ourselves, but for our neighbors as well.” She was silent. “We are a distinct race of people,” she concluded, after a moment.

He turned his head. “I like all that,” he declared, simply. “Though I’m afraid I won’t do–much as I dislike to admit it. You see, I’ve never learned to live much in the interest of others.” He regarded her with steady eyes.

Helen liked him for that, too. Evidently he had had too much breeding, and, from his remark, knew it. So she took it upon herself at least to offer him encouragement.

“You will learn,” she rejoined, smiling. “Everybody does.”

With this, Helen discreetly changed the subject. She entered upon less intimate matters, and soon, sweeping off into a rhapsody over the country–its attraction for Easterners, its grip on Westerners–she was chatting with a freedom typical of the country. For by now she was interested, and for some inexplicable reason she found herself drawn to the smiling stranger.

Also, Pat was interested. But not in the things which appealed to his mistress. Pat was pondering the sullen nature of the horse beside him, and as they rode slowly toward town he stole frequent sidelong glances at his unfriendly companion. But all he could arrive at was that, while appearing peaceable enough, this horse was the most self-satisfied animal chance had ever thrown his way. After a time he ceased all friendly advances, such as pressing close beside him and now and again playfully nipping at him, and took up his own affairs, finding deep cause for satisfaction in the return of his breath after the long race, and in the passing of pain from his strained legs, to say nothing of the complete absence of flying papers around him.

They crossed the railroad track and entered the town. Here the young man took a polite leave of Helen, and Pat, seeing the unfriendly horse canter away at a brisk gait, himself set out briskly, feeling somehow called upon to emulate the step of the other. And thus he continued through town to the river trail, which he followed at an even brisker stride, and thence to the ranch and the corral. Here his mistress took leave of him–abruptly, it seemed–and made her way straight into the house. Directly the Mexican came and removed his saddle and bridle. With these things off, he shook himself vigorously, and then took up his customary stand in the corner, and confidently awaited the reappearance of his mistress with sugar and apples–a reward she never had denied him.

But he waited this time in vain.

CHAPTER VIII
FELIPE MAKES A DISCOVERY

Pat waited in vain two whole days. Not once did she come to him, not once did he lay eyes upon her. He became nervous and irritable, and in this emptiness, equal to that which he had suffered during the three years she was away, he spent every waking moment in the corral, standing in his favorite corner, eyes strained toward the house, occasionally interrupting the silence with a pleading nicker. But his vigil gained him nothing, his watching remained unrewarded, his outcries went unanswered. Finally, with the close of each day he would enter the stable, but only to brood through half the night–wondering, wondering. But never did he give up hope. Nor had he given up hope now, this morning of the third day, when, standing in his corner as usual, he heard a door close in the house.

As always, his heart leaped with expectation, and he gave off a protracted whinny. Also he pressed close to the fence. This time he was not disappointed. For coming slowly toward him, with her hands behind her back, was his mistress.

“Pat,” she began, standing close before him, “I have neglected you purposely. And I did it because I have lost confidence in you.” She regarded him a long moment coldly, then was forced to smile. “I suppose I feel toward you much as I used to feel toward a doll of mine that had fallen and cracked its head. I want to shake you, yet I can’t help but feel sorry for you, too.” And again she was silent.

Pat shifted his feet uneasily. He did not quite understand all this, though he knew, despite the smile of his mistress, that it was serious. Still, encouraged by the smile, he pressed close and asked for sweets, nuzzling her coat-sweater persistently. But she stepped away. Whereupon he reached his neck after her, and became almost savage in his coaxing. Finally he was relieved to see her burst into a peal of laughter.

“Here!” she said, and held out both hands. “I don’t care if your head is broken!”

Glory be! Two red apples in one hand; a whole handful of loaf sugar in the other! If ever a horse smiled, he smiled then. Also, he promptly accepted some of the sugar, and, enjoying every delicious mouthful, reached for an apple. But she drew back. Evidently she was not yet finished with her reprimand.

“Blissfully unconscious of your behavior that morning, aren’t you?” she continued. “Not a bit ashamed; not one speck regretful!”

Well–he wasn’t. He was not a bit ashamed, not one speck regretful. Merely, he was sweet-hungry. And now that the sugar was gone, he wanted one of those apples mightily. Finally she gave him one, and then the other, feeding them to him rapidly, but not more rapidly than he wanted them. Then she spoke again.

“Pat dear,” she said, her voice undergoing change, “I’m troubled. I am foolish, I know. But I can’t help it. I advised that very nice young man to ride every morning. And he may do it. But if he does, sooner or later, perhaps the very first morning, we shall meet up there on the mesa. I want that, of course; but for reasons best known to Easterners, I don’t want it–not yet.” She gazed off toward the mountains. “I reckon, Pat dear,” she concluded, after a moment, turning her eyes back to him, “we’d better ride in the afternoons for a time. Yet the afternoons are so uncomfortably hot. Oh, dear! What shall I do?”

But the horse did not answer her. All he did was stand very still, eyes blinking slowly, seemingly aware of the gravity of the situation, yet unable to help her. Indeed, that her serious demeanor had struck a note of sympathy within him he presently revealed by once more pressing very close to her–this in the face of the fact that she had no more sweets with her and he could see that she had no more. The movement forced her back, and evidently he perceived his mistake, for he quickly retraced one step. Then he fell to regarding her with curious intentness, his head twisting slowly in a vertical plane, much as a dog regards his master, until, evidently finding this plane of vision becoming awkward, he stopped. After which Helen playfully seized his ears and shook his head.

“You’re a perfect dear!” she exclaimed. “And I love you! But I’m afraid we–we can’t ride mornings any more–not for a while, at any rate.” With this she left him.

He followed her to the gate, and with reluctance saw her enter the house. Then he rested his head upon the topmost board and, though he hardly expected it, waited for her return. Finally he abandoned his vigil, making his way slowly into the stable. He found both horses in their stalls, restlessly whisking their tails, offering nothing of friendliness or invitation. Also he awoke to the depressing atmosphere here, and after a time returned to the corral, where he took up a stand in his favorite corner and closed his eyes. Soon he was dreaming.

Sound as from a great distance awoke him. He opened his eyes. Outside the fence, and regarding him gloatingly, were two swarthy Mexicans in conversation. This was what had awakened him.

“Bet you’ life!” one was saying, the taller man of the two. “Thot’s my li’l’ horse grown big lak a house–and a-fine! Franke, we gettin’ thot caballo quick. We–”

A door had closed somewhere. The men heard it and crouched. But neither abandoned the ground. After some little time, hearing nothing further to alarm them, they set out along the fence to a rear door in the stable. It was not locked, and they lifted the latch and tiptoed inside. Up past the stalls they crept with cat-like stealth, gained the door leading into the corral, came to a pause, and gazed outside. The horse was still in his corner, his black coat glistening in the sunlight, and Felipe once more burst into comment, excited, but carefully subdued.

“A-fine! A-fine!” he breathed, rapturously. “He’s lookin’ joost lak a circus horse! You know, Franke,” he added, turning to the other, “I haf see thee pictures on thee fences–” He interrupted himself, for the man had disappeared. “Franke!” he called, whispering. “You coom here. You all thee time–” He checked himself and smiled at the other’s forethought. For Franke was emerging from a stall, carrying a halter. “Good!” he murmured. “I am forgettin’ thot, compadre!” Then once more he turned admiring eyes upon the horse. “Never–never–haf I see a horse lak thot! Mooch good luck is comin’ now, Franke! Why not?”

They stepped bravely forth into the corral. Yet their hour had been well timed. The house was still, quiet in its morning affairs, while the countryside around, wrapped in pulsating quiet, gave off not a sound. Cautiously approaching the horse, Franke slipped the halter into position, the while Felipe once more uttered his admiration. He was a little more direct and personal, however, this time.

“Well, you black devil!” he began, doubling his fist under Pat’s nose. “You haf run away from me thot time, eh? But you don’ run away again–bet you’ life! I got you now and I keep you thees time! I haf work for you–you black devil–mooch work! You coom along now!”

They led the horse into the stable, down past the stalls, and out the back door. Then they set out toward the river trail, and, with many furtive glances toward the house, gained it without interruption. Felipe’s lumber rigging and team of scrawny horses stood in the shade of a cottonwood, and Franke made the horse fast to the outhanging end of the reach. When he was secure both men seated themselves just back of the forward bolster, one behind