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

My dear Stephen [she began her letter],–I am sending Pat to you through Miguel. I wanted to help you in some way. I cannot help you myself directly, but in Pat I feel you will have a valuable aid. Take him–take him with my dearest and best wishes for your success. Pat may actually show you the way–may actually point the way out to you. Who knows? He understands who you are, I know, and I am sure he knows what you have been, and what you still are, to me.

Helen.

For a moment she sat deep in thought. Then suddenly awaking to the lateness of the hour, she arose and, going to the corral, called to the hostler. Miguel appeared, and she handed him the note, giving him careful instructions the while in regard to the horse. The Mexican smiled and entered the stable in quest of saddle and bridle, the while she turned to Pat in his corner and explained what she was about to do.

“Pat dear,” she began, nestling her cheek against his head, “you are going away. You are going with Stephen. Do you remember Stephen?” Emotion began to grip her. “You have served me well, Pat, and faithfully. I hope you will prove as true to your new master. I–I wanted to help him. But I–I couldn’t–couldn’t–” She could not go on. Gazing up into his eyes she seemed to see him waver–knew that it was because of her blinding tears–and abruptly left him and returned to the house.

In her room she stood weeping at the window overlooking the corral. She saw the Mexican bridle and saddle her pride, saw him carefully tuck away her note, and saw him mount Pat with a great show of importance, as though elated with his commission. Then she saw him ride Pat out of the corral, across into the river trail, and turn toward town. Seeing her horse go from her, perhaps for all time, she turned from the window and flung herself across her bed, where she gave way to her grief. Her Pat was gone! Her Pat–heart of her life–was gone!

Miguel was indeed pleased with his commission. Never before had he been astride this so-wonderful horse. As he rode along, testing the ease of Pat’s gait, noting with what readiness he responded to the reins, he fell to wishing that it were not so near dusk, since then he might become the object of envious eyes in town. But he could not control the hour of day, even though he could control the horse’s movements. So he cantered along until he reached the town proper, when he slowed Pat into a walk. Lights were being switched on along the avenue, and in their glare he enjoyed to the full whatever admiring glances were turned his way from the sidewalks. But as he neared the hotel where Stephen was stopping he urged Pat into a canter first, then into a gallop, pulling up before the side entrance with a quick reining that brought both the horse and himself to a stop with a magnificent flourish. It was good–as he admitted to himself. Then he slipped to earth. And now his magnificence left him, for he never before had entered this so-beautiful hostelry. Girting in his belt, however, he strode up the steps, faltered on the threshold, and was directed to the clerk. This magnate handed the letter to a bell-boy.

Stephen was seated in his room when he read Helen’s note. When he raised his eyes he stared unseeingly at the light across the street, deep in thought.

He knew what this had cost Helen. Riding with her almost every day for months, he could not but understand the depth of her attachment for the horse. Pat for years had been the one big factor in her life. And now she was giving Pat to him, to help him prove himself. It was a great thing to do, so great that he must accept it, and already, at this proof of her interest, he somehow felt assured of success. Also he saw a way open. He would go down into the cattle country, make a connection with some cattle interests, and, with Pat as guide and friend and capable servant, work out his destiny. Exactly what that would be he did not know. But he did know that he was going after it.

He turned to the boy still standing in the doorway. “Tell the man that I’ll be down directly,” he said. Then he made his way into his mother’s suite of rooms.

The frail little woman showed surprise at his decision. But she said nothing. She nodded quiet acquiescence and went on with her instructions to her maid, who was laying clothing away in preparation for the return East in the morning. Evidently she knew her boy. Whereupon Stephen, after explaining further, though no more fully than before, left her, descending to the office.

Miguel was standing awkwardly near the doorway, and with Stephen’s appearance touched his hat and led the way outside. Pat was facing three boys, the center of their interest, but when Stephen approached him, and talked to him, he turned and responded with a soft whinny, seeming to understand. Miguel remained at a respectful distance, awaiting orders. Then telling him to wait for a note to be taken to Miss Richards, Stephen re-entered the hotel.

The boys swirled off in play. Miguel stood alone with the horse. There were but few persons on the streets, since it was early evening and people were at supper. Miguel’s wandering eyes at length rested upon the swing-doors of a saloon opposite–rested there a long time. Finally, unable longer to resist their spell, he glanced at Pat’s bridle, noted that the reins were securely tied, and then yielded to the attention of the saloon. In a moment the swing-doors closed upon him.

They had barely ceased swinging when out of a doorway just down the street stole the figure of a man. He was young, smooth of face, garbed in blue shirt and overalls, with eyes well concealed under a black sombrero low-drawn. He moved out of the shadow cautiously, with many furtive glances about him. Then he swiftly crossed the street, hurried along the sidewalk to Pat, and reached the horse’s head and bridle. Untying the reins from the post, he leaped into the saddle. Then he swung Pat around, put light spurs to him, and urged him rapidly across the avenue. Beyond the avenue toward the north lay Stygian darkness. In these black depths he disappeared.

At this moment the clerk in the hotel was aroused by the unusual spectacle of one of his guests–young Wainwright–leaping down the stairs. He looked up with a surprised question. But Stephen ran past him, across the office, without heed. He gained the door, rushed down the steps, and shouted. The boys ceased playing, a passer-by came to a stop, out of the saloon opposite stepped Miguel. Miguel hastened across, drawing his hand over his mouth as he ran. Stephen opened upon him breathlessly.

“He’s gone!” he burst out. “I saw it from my window. A young man in blue shirt and overalls. The horse has been stolen!”

Miguel threw up both hands in despair. “Valgame Dios!” he cried. “I am lose my job!” He looked about him blankly.

Sick at heart, not knowing what to do, Stephen himself bolted back into the hotel. He entered the telephone booth and rang up the Judge’s office. It was late, but he took a chance. The Judge answered the call. His voice was weary with the strain of a long day.

“Who in thunder wants me at this hour?” he drawled, not unpleasantly. “Can’t you let a man–”

Stephen interrupted with an apology. Then he told the Judge of the loss. The Judge’s voice changed instantly.

“Fine business!” he snapped. “But I reckon I know who to look for. There’s only one man–one gang–in the Territory that would do that in that way. It’s a job for the range police.” Then his voice softened. “Don’t worry, Stephen!” he added. “You just sit tight. I’ll take it up with the authorities.”

Stephen left the booth and entered the writing-room. Here he added a sad postscript to his note to Helen. Then he went outside, despatched Miguel with the letter, returned to his room and sat down, disconsolate and angry.

To have Pat sent to him with this noble generosity, and then to lose him! Surely fate was more than unkind. The horse, given into his keeping, had been wrested from him at once. Yes, he was all that Helen had intimated that he was–a man incapable of trust, a man such as she could never permit herself–and he recalled her words now with rankling bitterness–to care for in the way he wanted her to care for him. Knowing that Pat was gone from him, and gone in such ignoble fashion, he knew that he never could face the horse’s mistress again. This was bitterest of all! For a time he gave way to despair.

Presently he awoke to a sense of stern responsibility. The horse had been delivered. Miguel had safely delivered him. It was all up to him then, Stephen, and to nobody else. He alone was responsible, and it was his duty to get Pat back. Out of his self-doubting this realization came with a sense of comfort. His course now lay clearly before him. He would get the horse back! He must get him back! There was nothing else left for him. For if he ever expected to return to Helen, and this was his life’s hope, he must return to her with the horse. He could return to her in no other way.

He saw the difficulties. This was a large country, and he knew but very little of its activities. He recalled what the Judge had intimated–that the character of the thieves was such as to offer no encouragement of successful pursuit to any but men schooled to the country and the habits of the thieves. Yet against this and in his favor was the widespread reputation of Pat, and that certainly ought to be of some help in his pursuit. But, difficult or easy–take a month or a year–take five years–he would get Pat and return him to his mistress! The Judge had spoken of range police. Why couldn’t he enlist with these men, enlist in any capacity, and accompany them till such time as he should learn the country well enough to venture out alone if necessary in his quest? At any rate, he would have a talk with the Judge–would see him early in the morning. He arose to his feet. The thing was settled in his mind. Also for the first time in his life his view had an object. He would go forth into life, get that which it withheld from him, bring it back and place it before the woman of his choice.

And now, so great is the power, so prompt the reward, of energy rightly applied, he found himself whistling as he began to toss wearing-apparel into a