CHAPTER XXI
LIFE AND DEATH
The third group in the affray consisted of cowboys. Weary andbedraggled, yet joyous at the suppression of the uprising, they set outfor home about noon. Stephen, mounted upon Pat, accompanied them. Theyheaded into the northwest, riding slowly, talking over the affair, whileStephen explained in part his interest in the black horse. Night foundthem near a water-hole, and here they went into camp, Stephen weak anddistressed, his whole body aching, his arm and shoulder throbbing inagonizing pain. The men proved attentive and considerate; but he laydown exhausted and courted sleep, hardly hearing what they said. Sleepcame to him only fitfully, and he was glad when break of day brought achange. They rode on through the second day, usually in sober silence,on into another dusk and another night of torture. A third day and athird dusk followed, but there was no camp this time. Continuingforward, just before dawn, with the moon brilliant in the heavens, theyreached a cluster of buildings. One of them was a dwelling with a fencearound it as a protection against cattle and horses, and to the rear ofthis all dismounted. Stephen led Pat into a spacious stable, and, withthe assistance of the others, unsaddled and unbridled him, watered andfed him generously, then left him for the night.
Instantly Pat began to inquire into his condition and surroundings. Hewas stiff and sore and a little nervous from the events of the past fewdays, and he found the stable, spacious though it was, depressing afterhis protracted life in the open. Yet there were many offsettingcomforts. He had received a generous supply of grain and all the waterhe could drink. Then there was another comfort, though he awoke to thisonly after sinking to rest. His stall was thickly bedded with straw,which was comfort indeed, and though he had become accustomed to thepricking of the desert sand, he nestled into the straw with a sigh ofsatisfaction. To his right and left other horses stirred restlessly, andfrom outside came an occasional nicker, presumably from some unroofedinclosure. All these sounds kept him awake for a time, and it wasapproaching day before he felt himself sinking off into easy slumber.
He was awakened by the coming of a stranger into his stall. It was broaddaylight, and he hastily gained his feet, mystified for an instant thathe should be sleeping in broad day, and not a little troubled by hisstrange surroundings. The new-comer was a fat youth with a round andsmiling face, who, as he raked down the bedding, talked in a pleasingdrawl.
"Pat," he began, shoving him over gently, "you're shore some cayuse.Wouldn't mind ownin' a piece o' you myself. But I was goin' for to saythere's trouble come onto you. That mighty likable pardner o' yours isgone in complete--sick to death. We've telephoned for the doc, but he'soff somewheres, and we've got to wait till he gits back. But it's shoretoo bad--all of it. Steve he's got a nasty arm and shoulder, and he'sall gone generally. Mighty distressin' I call it."
With this he slapped Pat heartily and left him.
When he had gone Pat felt a depression creeping over him. It becameheavier as the hours passed. He knew that his young friend was somewhereabout, and could not understand why he failed to come to him himself,instead of sending this stranger. Then, with the hours lengthening intoa day, and the days dragging into a week, with only the smiling strangercoming to him regularly, and petting and stroking and talking to him, hecame to feel that something of grave and serious nature was going onoutside. So he longed to get out of the stable, out into sunlight andaway from this restraint, and to see for himself what it was that washolding his master from him.
Then late one afternoon he heard a step approaching. It was his master'sstep, yet it was very different. It was slow and dragging, and while thevoice was the same, yet there was a note of hollowness as he spoke thatdid not belong there, a note as if it required great effort to speak atall. But in spite of this he recognized his young master, and sounded awelcoming nicker, anxious to be off. For somehow he believed that now hewould be taken out into the sunlight. Nor was he disappointed. After amoment's petting the young man led him outdoors, and there began tobridle and saddle him, slowly, with many pauses for breath, all as if ithurt him, as indeed it must, since he still wore the white bandages.Then there appeared a group of interested young men, suddenly, as thoughthey had just discovered the proposed departure.
"See here, Steve," one of them exploded, "this ain't treating us a bitnice. You're a mighty sick man. I ain't saying that to worry you,neither; but I can't see the idee of your hopping out of bed to do thisthing. You stick around till the doc comes again, anyway. Now, don't bea fool, Steve."
Stephen continued slowly with his saddling. "It's decent of youfellows," he said, quietly. "And I don't want you to think meungrateful. It's just a feeling I've got. I want to get this horse backwhere he belongs."
Another of the group took up the attempt at persuasion. "But you'resick, man!" he exclaimed, beginning to stroke Pat absently. "You won'tnever make the depot! You owe it to everybody you've ever knowed to getright back into bed and stay there!"
But Stephen only shook his head. Yet he knew that what the boys said wastrue. He was sick, and he knew it. He realized that he ought to be inbed. And he wanted to be in bed. But already he had suffered too much,lying inert, not because of his arm and the fever upon him, though thesewere almost unbearable, but because of the haunting fear, come to himever more insistently with each passing day, that since Pat had escapedfrom him twice thus far, he was destined to escape from him a thirdtime. Sometimes this fear took shape in visions of a blazing fire in thestable, in which Pat was burned to a crisp; again it took form in somemalady peculiar to horses which would prove equally disastrous. At last,unable to withstand these pictures longer, he had crept out of bed,dressed as best he could, and stolen out of the house, bent upon gettingPat to the railroad, and there shipping him east to Helen at whatevercost to himself. So here he was, about to ride off.
"You're--you're mighty decent," he repeated, hollowly, by way offarewell. "But I've got to go. And don't worry about my making thestation," he added, reassuringly. "I have the directions, and I'll getthere in time to make that ten-thirty eastbound to-night." He clamberedpainfully up into the saddle.
A third member of the group, the round-faced and smiling cowpuncher,opened up with his pleasing drawl. "Why'n't you stay over till mornin',then?" he demanded. "The ranch wagon goes up early, and you could ridethe seat just like a well man."
But Stephen remained obdurate, and, repeating his thanks and farewells,he urged Pat forward at a walk because he himself could not stand theracking of a more rapid gait. The men sent after him expressions ofregret mingled with friendly denunciations, but he rode steadily on,closing his ears grimly against their pleas, and soon he was movingslowly across the Arizona desert. His direction was northwest, and hisdestination, though new to him, a little town on the Santa Fe.
As he rode forward through the quiet of the afternoon he found histhoughts a curious conflict. At times he would think of the girl, and ofhis love for her, and of the long, still hours spent in the ranch-housebrooding, especially the nights, when, gazing out at the stars, he hadwondered whether she knew, or, knowing, whether, after all, she reallycared. They had been lonely nights, fever-tossed and restless, nightssometimes curiously made up of pictures--pictures of a runaway horse andof a girl mounted upon the horse, and of long walks and rides and talkswith her afterward, and of the last night in her company, outside acorral and underneath a smiling moon, the girl in white, her eyesburning with a strange glow, himself telling his love for her, andhearing in return only that she did not and could not return that love.
These were his thoughts at times as he rode forward through the desertsolitude. Then he would awaken to his physical torture, and in this hewould completely forget his spiritual distress, would ask why he hadflung himself into this mocking silence and plunged into all this miseryand pain. He knew why--knew it was because of the girl. But would ithave been better to accept her dismissal and, returning to the East, lether pass out of his memory? In his heart he knew that he could not.
There foll
owed the thought of his responsibility for Pat, and of whatwas left for him to do. He recalled the theft, and his weeks of futileriding to recover the horse, and the thrill accompanying risk of lifewhen he finally recovered him. And after that the second theft, andanother and more dreadful ride when he raced through the night after thecavalry--the torture of it, the agony of his arm, the shooting, and thegrappling hand to hand, and Pat sinking with exhaustion, and the thrillagain, his own, at having the horse once more in his possession. It was_worth_ it--all of it--and he was _glad_--glad to have had anobject for once in his life. And he still had that object, for was henot riding the horse on a journey which would end in placing Pat in thehands of the adorable girl who owned him?
Thus he rode through the afternoon and on into an early dusk. Suddenlyawaking to the Stygian darkness around him, he gave over thinking of thepast and future and turned uneasy thoughts upon the present. Above himwas a black, impenetrable dome, seemingly within touch of his hand;around and about him pressed a dense wall that gave no hint of hiswhereabouts. Yet he believed that he was pursuing the right direction;and, forgetting that Pat, no more than himself, knew the route, he gavethe horse loose rein. Thus for an hour, two hours, three, he rode slowlyforward, when like a flash it came to him that he was hopelessly lost.He reined in the horse sharply.
For a time he sat trying to place himself. Failing in this, he raisedhis eyes, hoping for a break in the skies. But there was no glimmer oflight, and after a while, not knowing what else to do, he sent Patforward again. But his uneasiness would not down, and presently he drewrein again, dismounted, and fell to listening. There was not a breath ofair. He took a step forward, his uneasiness becoming fear, and againstood motionless, listening, gripped by the oppressive stillness of thedesert. It crept upon him, this death-quiet, seemed to close about himsuffocatingly. Suddenly he started. Out of the dense blackness had comea voice, weak and plaintive. He turned tense with excitement andlistened keenly.
"Hello, there! This--over this way!"
He could see nothing; but he moved in the direction of the voice. Aftera few strides he was stopped by a consciousness of something before him,and there was a constrained groan.
"Careful, man--I'm hurt. Unhorsed this morning. Been crawling all dayfor shade. Strike a match, will you? God! but it's a night!"
Stephen struck a light. As it flared up he saw prone in the sand a youngman, his face drawn with pain, his eyes dark and hunted. The match wentout. He struck another. The man was pitifully bruised and broken. A legof his trousers had been torn away, and the limb lay exposed, strangelytwisted. His track, made in crawling through the sand, stood outclearly, trailing away beyond the circling glow of light. A moment offlickering, and the second match went out.
"Which way were you headed, friend?" Stephen asked, pityingly. His heartwent out to the stricken stranger. He wanted to ask another question,too, but he hesitated. But finally he asked it. "Who are you, old man?"
For a moment the fellow did not reply. The silence was oppressive.Stephen regretted his question. Then suddenly the man answered him,weakly, bitterly, as one utterly remorseful.
"I'm Jim," he blurted out. "Horse-thief, cattle-rustler."
Stephen bit his lip. More than ever he regretted that he had asked.Well, something had to be done, and done quickly. Could he but feel sureof his direction, he might place this unfortunate upon Pat and walk withhim to the railroad town, where proper medical and surgical attendancecould be obtained. But this he was unable to do, since he fully realizedhe was astray.
"Brother," he suddenly explained, "I was headed, myself, toward therailroad. A little before dark I lost my way. Do you happen to know--"
"Sit down," interrupted the other, faintly. "I've been--been lost--aweek."
Stephen sat down thoughtfully. All hope of serving the man for thepresent was gone. He must wait till daybreak at least. Then somebody orsomething might appear to show him the way out. He thought of the ranchwagon, and of Buddy's offer, and it occurred to him that unless he wastoo far off the regular course he might attract Buddy. It was a chance,anyway.
"I've been 'most dead, too, for a week," suddenly began the other. "I'ain't eat regularly, for one thing--'most a month of that, I reckon.Been times, too, when I couldn't--couldn't find water. I didn't know thecountry over here. Had to change--change horses a couple times, too.Because--" He checked himself. "I made a mistake--the last horse. Hegive me all--all that was comin'--"
A nicker from Pat interrupted him. Stephen felt him cringe. Directly hefelt something else. It was a cold hand groping to find his own. Thewhole thing was queer, uncanny, and he was glad when the man went on.
"Did--did you hear that?" breathed the fellow, a note of suppressedterror in his voice. "Did you hear it, friend? Tell me!" His voice wasshrill now.
Stephen reassured him, explaining that it was his horse. But a long timethe man held fast, fingers gripping his hand, as if he did not believe,and was listening to make sure. At length he relaxed, and Stephen, stillseated close beside him, heard him sink back into the sand.
"I was getting away from--from--Oh, well, it don't--don't make anydifference." The fellow was silent. "I needed a--a horse," he continued,finally. "My own--the third since--since--my own had played out. I wasnear a ranch, and--and it was night, and I--I seen a corral with a horsestanding in it--a gray. It was moonlight. I--I got the gate open, andI--I roped him, and--" He interrupted himself, was upon one elbow again."It was a stallion--a cross-bred, maybe--and--and say, friend, he rodeme to death! I got on him before I knowed what he was. Bareback. He shotout of that corral like he was crazy. But I--I managed to hold--hold tohim and--if he'd only bucked me off! But he didn't. He just raced forit--tore across the country like a cyclone. He rode me to death, ahundred miles, I bet, without a stop. And I held on--couldn't letgo--was afraid to let go." He was silent. "Are you--you dead sure,friend, that was your horse?"
Stephen again reassured him, realizing the fear upon the man and nowunderstanding it. But he said nothing.
"And then somewhere off here he throwed me," went on the man. "Buthe--he was a raving maniac. He turned on me before I could get up, andbit and kicked and trampled me till I didn't know nothing--was asleep,or something. When I came to--woke up--he was still hanging around. He'saround here yet! I heard him all day--yesterday! He's off there to theeast somewheres. He's--he's looking for me. I kept still whenever I'dsee him or hear him, and then when he'd move off out of sight, orquit--quit his nickering, I'd crawl along some more. I'm--I'm done,stranger," he concluded, weakly, dropping over upon his back. "I'm done,and I know it. And it was that horse that--that--" He was silent.
Stephen did not speak. He could not speak after this fearsome tale. Itspictures haunted him. He could see this poor fellow racing across thedesert, clinging for life to that which meant death. His own conditionhad been brought about through a horse, a horse and wild rides at a timewhen he should have been, as this unfortunate undoubtedly should havebeen, in bed under medical care. For a moment he thought he would tellhim a tale of misery equal to his own, in the hope that he might turnhim from thoughts of his own misfortunes. But before he could speak theother broke in upon his thoughts with a shrill outcry. He had raisedhimself upon one elbow again, and now was pointing toward the easternsky.
"Look!" he cried. "Look off there!"
Stephen turned his eyes in the direction of the pointing finger. He sawa faint light breaking through the black dome of the sky. As he watchedit, it trickled out steadily, like slow-spreading water, filteringslowly through dense banks of clouds, folding them back like the shutterof a giant camera, until the whole eastern sky was a field of grayclouds with frosty edges, between which, coming majestically forwardthrough the green-white billow, appeared finally a moon, big and roundand brilliant, casting over the earth a flood of wonderland light,streaming down upon the dunes and flats in mystic sheen, bringing outthe desert in soft outline. Near by, the light brought out the form ofPat, standing a short distance off with d
rooping head, motionless in allthe splendor of his perfect outline. Stephen turned back to the man. Hefound him staring hard at the horse. He did not understand this untilthe fellow burst out excitedly, his eyes still fixed on Pat.
"Whose horse is that?" he demanded. "Tell me. Do you own that blackhorse?"
Stephen slowly shook his head. He thought the question but anotherexpression of the stranger's nervous apprehension due to his experience.Yet he explained.
"He belongs back in New Mexico," he said, quietly--"the Rio GrandeValley. He was stolen last spring. Been ridden pretty hard since, Iguess. I happen to know where he belongs, though, and I was taking himto a shipping-point when I lost my way. That's the horse you heardnicker a while ago," he added, soothingly.
The man sank flat again.
"I stole him," he blurted out. "I--I hope you'll get him back where hebelongs. His--his name is Pat. He's--he's the best horse I ever rode."He relapsed, into silence, motionless, as one dead.
Stephen himself remained motionless. He looked at the man curiously. Hebelieved that he ought to feel bitter toward him, since he saw in himthe cause of all his own misery. But somehow he found that he could feelnothing but pity. In this man with eyes closed and gasping lips Stephensaw only a brother-mortal in distress, as he himself was in distress,and he forgave him for anything he had done.
He looked at Pat, understanding the temptation, and then turned his eyespityingly toward the man--the stranger, dozing, murmuring strangely inhis sleep. Seeing him at rest, and realizing the long hours beforedaybreak, Stephen finally dropped over upon one elbow, and prepared topass the night as best he could. He was suffering torture from his armand shoulder, and burning with the fever shown in his hot skin andparched lips.
The night passed restlessly. He saw the first rays of dawn break overthe range and creep farther and farther down the valley, throwing a palepink over the landscape and sending gaunt shadows slinking off into thelight. A whinny from Pat aroused him. He arose painfully, gazed at theman at his feet, and then turned his eyes toward the distant horizon. Asecond whinny disturbed him and he shifted his gaze. Far above two greatbuzzards, circling round and round, faded into the morning haze. From aneighboring sand-dune a jack-rabbit appeared, paused a quivering moment,then scurried from view. The morning light grew brighter. A thirdwhinny, and Pat now slowly started toward him. But again he fastened hiseyes upon the distant horizon, hoping for a sight of the ranch wagon.But no wagon appeared. At length he turned to the horse. Pat stoodsoberly regarding the man, his ears forward, head drooping, tailmotionless, as if recognizing in this mute object an erstwhile master.And suddenly lifting his head, he sounded a soft nicker, tremulously.Then again he fell to regarding the still form with strange interest.
The form was still, still for all eternity. For the man was dead.
Stephen sat down. He was shaking with fever and weakness. He placed ahandkerchief over the face in repose, almost relieved that peace hadcome to this troubled soul. Then he thought of possible action. Herealized that he was utterly lost. He had Pat, and for this he wasthankful, since he knew that he could at least mount the horse and leavehim to find a way out. But the horse alone must do it. He himself wasbewildered, for the desert in broad day, as much as in the long night,revealed nothing. On every hand it lay barren, destitute of movement,wrapped in silence, seeming to mock his predicament. Yet he could notbring himself to mount at once. He sat motionless, suffering acutely,knowing that the least exertion would increase his pain--a machine rundown--not caring to move.
Suddenly, off to the east appeared a horse--a gray. It canteredmajestically to the top of a dune, and stood there--head erect, nostrilsquivering, ears alert, cresting the hillock like a statue. Stephenshivered. For instinctively he knew this to be the gray stallion, thecross-bred, that had trampled the form beside him. His first impulse wasto mount Pat and spur him in a race for life; his second impulse was tocrouch in hiding in the hope of escaping the keen scrutiny of thatmerciless demon. He chose the race. Springing to his feet, he leaped forPat, and he grasped the saddle-horn. In his haste he slipped, lost hisstirrup, and fell back headlong. The shock made him faint, and for atime he was unconscious. Shrill neighing aroused him, and, hastilygaining his feet, he saw Pat running lightly, well-contained, to meetthe swiftly advancing gray stallion. Then events moved with a terribleunreality.
The gray screamed defiantly and leaped toward Pat faster and faster. Patbraced his legs to meet the assault. But no assault came. With rarecraft the gray suddenly checked himself, coming to a full stop twolengths away. Here, with ears flat and lashing tail, he glared at Pat,who, equally tense, returned defiance. Thus they stood in the desert,quiet, measuring each other, while Stephen, crouched, watching them,remembering the lifeless form beside him, prayed that Pat would proveequal to the mighty stallion. He had no gun. Pat alone could save him.If Pat were conquered nothing remained but death for both. For with Patdead--and surely this masterful foe would stop at nothing short ofdeath--Stephen realized that he himself, in his present condition, wouldnever see civilization again. He could not walk the distance even if heknew the way, nor could he hope to mount the victorious stallion, shouldPat be defeated, because only one man had done that, and that man laydead beside him. The thought of being alone in the desert with the deadstruck chill to his heart. He recalled his first ride with Helen, andher tales of men and horses in the early days, and what it meant to aman to have his horse stolen from him. It was all clear to him now, andhe clenched his sound hand till the nails cut the flesh. Unless Patfought a successful fight he was doomed to die of thirst, even if thestallion did not attack him. As he looked at Pat, his only hope in thisdread situation, he prayed harder and more fervently than before thathis champion would win.
Pat thrilled with the sense of coming battle, but he did not fear thishorse. He remembered that once he had struck down a rival, and beforethat he had twice given successful battle to men--to a finish with theMexican hostler, another time when he had brought his enemy to respectand consider him. Therefore he had no reason to fear this horse, eventhough he saw in the gray's splendid figure an enemy to be carefullyconsidered. But not for an instant did Pat relax. For this was a craftyfoe, as shown by his sudden halt, which Pat knew was the prelude to aswift attack. So he watched with keen alertness the flattened ears, thelashing tail--his own muscles held rigid, waiting.
The gray began a cautious approach. He put forward his legs one afteranother slowly, the while he held his eyes turned away, as if he werewholly absorbed in the vastness of the desert reaches. This was but amere feint, as Pat understood it, and yet he waited, curious to know theoutcome, still holding himself rigidly on guard. Closer came the gray,closer still, until he was almost beside him. Pat heard the whistle ofhis breath and saw the wild light in his eyes, and for an instant fearedhim. Yet there was no attack. The gray calmly gained a point immediatelyalongside and stopped, head to Pat's rump, separated from him by notmore than half his length. Yet he did not attack; but Pat did not relax.And again they stood, end to end now and side by side, until Pat, comingfinally to think, against his better judgment, that this was, after all,only a friendly advance, became less watchful. Then the blow fell. Witha shrill scream that chilled Pat's heart the gray leaped sideways with apeculiar broadside lunge intended to hurl him off his feet. It was aform of attack new to Pat, and therefore never known to his ancestors,and before he could brace himself to meet it he found himself rollingover and over frantically in the sand.
He sprang up, screaming with rage, while the gray was trampling him withfiendish hoofs. He steadied himself, resisted the onslaught, took theoffensive himself. He lunged with bared teeth, sank them into yieldingflesh, and wheeled away quickly. But not fast enough. The gray slashedhis rump. He turned back, tore the gray's shoulder, wheeled sharply,attacked with lightning heels, and darted away again. But again the graysprang upon him, ripped his rump a second time, and sprang off like afiend. Raging, vindictive, Pat hurtled after him, and snapped again andagai
n, drawing hot blood pungent of taste and smell, and then he leapedaside. But not far enough. The gray dashed into him, enveloped him in awhirlwind of clashing teeth and flashing heels, and wheeled away in awide circle, screaming to the heavens, leaving Pat, with a dozenstinging wounds, dazed and exhausted.
But Pat was quick to recover himself. Also, he took council. Never hadhe fought like this. His battle with the white horse had beenbrief--brief because of sudden releasing of weeks of venom stored withinhim by the white's continuous nagging, brief because of the white'sinability to spring from each attack in season to protect himself. Butno such sluggishness hampered this enemy, and he grimly realized thatthis was a struggle to the death. But he felt no fear. He respected theother's craft and wit and strength. Yet he knew that he himself hadstrength, while he realized that strength alone would not conquer. Craftand wit must serve with strength. Having strength, he himself must adoptthe other qualities, must adapt himself to the occasion, exercise witand craft, wait for openings, feint and withdraw, feint and attack,until, wearying this enemy, and puzzling him, there would come thechance to strike a death-blow. He knew what the death-blow was--knew itfrom his encounter with the white. He must inflict it first, lest thegray anticipate him, for the gray undoubtedly knew, also, from hisexperience and from his ancestors, what the death-blow was.
After a moment of gasping breath and gradually clearing eyes he feltself-control and assurance return. Since his enemy appeared to bewaiting, he himself continued to wait. He waited three minutes, fiveminutes, ten, until the nervous tension would permit him to wait nolonger. Remembering his plans, and emulating the first approach of thegray, he started slowly toward him, putting forward one foot afteranother quietly, his eyes upon the distant horizon. He even outdid thegray in his craft. As he drew near, he suddenly took on the manner ofone seeking friendliness, nickering once softly, as if he had had enoughof this and would ask reconciliation. But his ruse failed. The gray waswise with the wisdom of the world-free. Plunging suddenly upon him, hesnapped for his ears, but missed. His teeth flashed at Pat's neck,lodged, and ripped the flesh. He whirled, lashed out with his heels,missed, and sped away. Pat wheeled again and again, almost overthrown,and staggered away.
Again he took council with himself. He was not beaten, he knew that. Butneither was the enemy beaten. He knew that also. And he knew he mustbide his time. Twice he had closed with the enemy, and twice he had comeaway the worse. Nothing was to be gained by this method. He must bidehis time, wait for an encounter, dodge it if the moment provedunpropitious, but refrain from close attack. He must wait for hischance.
As he stood there, alert to every least thing, he suddenly awoke totease breathing close behind him. For one flaming moment he was puzzled.Then he remembered that he had been watching the gray out of the cornerof his eye. He had seemed to be off guard, and the other had stolencautiously around behind him, evidently to take advantage of thischance. He swallowed hard. The enemy was stealing upon him. He wanted towheel, believed he ought to wheel if he would save himself, but he didnot. Instead, he brought craft into play. He listened patiently,intensely alert, and bided his time. The breathing came closer, closerstill, and stopped. He heard the enemy swallow. He conquered his longingto turn, and remained still as death. The gray drew no closer. He seemedto be waiting, also biding his time. And now it became a test, a matterof nervous endurance, each waiting for the other. Around them pressedthe desert solitude. There was no sound anywhere. The sun beat down uponthe earth remorselessly. And still Pat waited, but not for long. Therewas a soft tread behind him, and he knew that he had won in the contestof endurance. With the footfalls he heard spasmodic breathing. And yethe waited. But he was ready to strike--to deal the death-blow. Closercame the restrained breathing, was close behind him. Then he struck withall his strength.
And his lightning heels found their mark. He heard the crack of bone anda long, terrible scream. He wheeled and saw the gray limping away.Gripped in sudden overwhelming fury, sounding a cry no less shrill thanthat of the gray, he leaped upon the enemy, bore him to earth, and,knowing no mercy, he trampled and slashed the furiously resisting foeinto a bleeding mass. Then he dashed off, believing that it was allover. He turned toward Stephen and flung up his head to sound a cry ofjoy. But he did not sound it, for, taken off his guard, he suddenlyfound himself bowled over by the frenzied impact of the gray.
And Stephen, tense with suspense, felt hope sink within him. For thegray stallion, even with fore leg broken, was smothering the prostratePat in a raging attack. He saw Pat struggle time and again to gain hisfeet. At last, only after desperate effort, he saw him rise. He saw himspring upon the crippled gray and tear his back and neck and withersuntil his face and chest were covered with blood. And then--and at sightof this he went limp in joy and relief--he saw Pat wheel against thegray and lash out mightily, and he saw the gray drop upon breast andupper fore legs--hopelessly out of the struggle. For Pat had broken thesecond fore leg, and this fiend of the desert was down for all time.
And now Pat did a strange thing. As if it suddenly came to him that hehad done a forbidden thing--for, after all, he was a product of advancedcivilization--he flung up his head a second time and sounded a babyishwhimper. Then he trotted straight to Stephen, there to nestle, as oneseeking sympathy, under his master's enfolding arms. And Stephen,understanding, caressed and hugged and talked to him in a fervor ofgratitude, until, awaking to the distress of the stallion, he staggeredto his feet, intent upon a search for a revolver in the clothing of thestill form. He found one, unexpectedly, in concealing folds, and with itshot the gray. Then he dragged himself to Pat, clambered dizzily intothe saddle, gave the horse loose rein.
Pat set out at a walk. He was bleeding in many places, and he was soreand burning in many others. But he did not permit these things to diverthim from his task. He went on steadily, going he knew not whither, untilhe felt his master become inert in the saddle. This troubled him, and,without knowing precisely why he did it, he freshened his gait andcontinued at a fox-trot well into the morning, until his alert eyessuddenly caught sight of a thin column of dust flung up by gallopinghorses and swiftly revolving wheels. Then he came to a halt, and, stillnot understanding his motives, he pointed his head toward the distantvehicle and sounded a shrill nicker.
The effort brought disaster. He felt his young master slip out of thesaddle, saw him totter and sink in a heap on the sand. And now heunderstood fully. Throwing up his head again, he awoke the desert withan outcry that racked his whole body. But he did not stop. Again andagain he flung his call across the silence, hurling it in mightystaccato in the direction of the ranch wagon until he saw the mansuddenly draw rein, remain still for a time, then start up the horsesagain, this time in his direction. And now, and not till now, he ceasedhis nickering, and, in the great weariness and fatigue upon him, let hishead droop, with eyes closed, until his nose almost touched the ground.
And although he did not know it, in the past four hours this dumb animalhad in every way lived up to the faith and trust reposed in him by thelittle woman in the distant valley.
Bred of the Desert: A Horse and a Romance Page 21