The Max Brand Megapack

by Max Brand

  “David,” said Connor when he could speak, “you might as well harness lightning to your plow. Why in the name of God, man, don’t you get mules for this work?”

  The master looked to the ground, for he was angered.

  “It is not against His will that I work them at the plow,” he answered. “He has not warned me against it.”

  “Who hasn’t?”

  “Our Father whose name you spoke. Look! They are not unhappy, Jurith and Rajima, of the blood of Aliriz.”

  He whistled, whereat the off mare tossed her head and whinnied.

  “By Heaven, she knows you at this distance!” gasped Connor.

  “Which is only to say that she is not a fool. Did I not sit with her three days and three nights when she was first foaled? That was twenty-five years ago; I was a child then.”

  Connor, staring after the high, proud head of Jurith, sighed. The horses started on at a walk which was the least excellent gait in the Eden Grays. Their high croups and comparatively low withers, their long hindlegs and the shorter forelegs, gave them a waddling motion with the hind quarters apparently huddling the forehand along.

  Indeed, they seemed designed in every particular for the gallop alone. But Glani was an exception. Just as in size he appeared a freak among the others, so in his gaits all things were perfectly proportioned. Connor, with a deep, quiet delight, watched the big stallion stepping freely. Shakra had to break into a soft trot now and then to catch up.

  “Let us walk,” said David. “The run is for when a man feels with the hawk in the sky; the gallop is for idle pleasure; the trot is an ugly gait, for distance only; but a walk is the gait when two men speak together. In this manner Matthew and I went up and down the valley roads. Alas, it is five years since I have walked my horse! Is it not, Glani, my king? And now, Benjamin, tell me your trouble.”

  “There is no trouble,” said Connor.

  But David smiled, saying: “We are brothers in Glani, Benjamin. To us alone he has given his head. Therefore speak freely.”

  “Look back,” said Connor, feeling that the crisis had come and that he must now put his fortune to the touch.

  David turned on the stallion. “What do you see?”

  “I see old Elijah. He drives the two mares, and the furrow follows them—the blackbirds also.”

  “Do you see nothing else?”

  “I see the green meadow and the sky with a cloud in it; I see the river yonder and the aspens flash as the wind strikes them.”

  “And do you hear nothing?”

  “I hear the falling of the Jordan and the cry of the birds. Also, Elijah has just spoken to Rajima. Ah, she is lazy for a daughter of Aliriz!”

  “Do you wish to know what I see and hear, David?”

  “If it is your pleasure, brother.”

  “I see a blue sky like this, with the wind and the clouds in it and all that stuff—”

  “All of what?”

  “And I see also,” continued Connor, resolving to watch his tongue, “thousands of people, acres of men and women.”

  David was breathless with interest. He had a way of opening his eyes and his mind like a child.

  “We are among them; they jostle us; we can scarcely breathe. There is a green lawn below us; we cannot see the green, it is so thickly covered with men. They have pulled out their wallets and they have money in their hands.”

  “What is it?” muttered David. “For my thoughts swim in those waves of faces.”

  “I see,” went on Connor, “a great oval road fenced on each side, with colored posts at intervals. I see horses in a line, dancing up and down, turning about—”

  “Ah, horses!”

  “Kicking at each other.”

  “So? Are there such bad manners among them?”

  “But what each man is trembling for, and what each man has risked his money upon, is this question: Which of all those is the fastest horse? Think! The horses which fret in that line are the finest money can buy. Their blood lines are longer than the blood lines of kings. They are all fine muscles and hair-trigger nerves. They are poised for the start. And now—”

  “Benjamin, is there such love of horses over the mountains? Listen! Fifty thousand men and women breathe with those racers.”

  “I know.” There was a glint in the eyes of David. “When two horses match their speed—”

  “Some men have wagered all their money. They have borrowed, they have stolen, to get what they bet. But there are two men only who bet on one of the horses. You, David, and I!”

  “Ha? But money is hard to come by.”

  “We ask them the odds,” continued Connor. “For one dollar we shall take a hundred if our horse wins—odds of a hundred to one! And we wager. We wager the value of all we have. We wager the value of the Garden of Eden itself!”

  “It is madness, Benjamin!”

  “Look closer! See them at the post. There’s the Admiral. There’s Fidgety—that tall chestnut. There’s Glorious Polly—the little bay. The greatest stake horses in the country. The race of the year. But the horse we bet on, David, is a horse which none of the rest in that crowd knows. It is a horse whose pedigree is not published. It is a small horse, not more than fourteen-three. It stands perfectly still in the midst of that crowd of nervous racers. On its back is an old man.”

  “But can the horse win? And who is the old man?”

  “On the other horses are boys who have starved until they are wisps with only hands for the reins of a horse and knees to keep on his back. They have stirrups so short that they seem to be floating above the racers. But on the back of the horse on which we are betting there is only an old, old man, sitting heavily.”

  “His name! His name!” David cried.

  “Elijah! And the horse is Jurith!”

  “No, no! Withdraw the bets! She is old.”

  “They are off! The gray mare is not trained for the start. She is left standing far behind.”

  “Ah!” David groaned.

  “Fifty thousand people laughing at the old gray mare left at the post!”

  “I see it! I hear it!”

  “She’s too short in front; too high behind. She’s a joke horse. And see the picture horses! Down the back stretch! The fifty thousand have forgotten the gray, even to laugh at her. The pack drives into the home stretch. There’s a straight road to the finish. They straighten out. They get their feet. They’re off for the wire!”

  The voice of Connor had risen to a shrill cry. “But look! Look! There’s a streak of gray coming around the turn. It’s the mare! It’s old Jurith!”

  “Jurith!”

  “No awkwardness now! She spreads herself out and the posts disappear beside her. She stretches down low and the rest come back to her. Fine horses; they run well. But Jurith is a racing machine. She’s on the hip of the pack! Look at the old man all the thousand were laughing at. He sits easily in the saddle. He has no whip. His reins are loose. And then he uses the posts ahead of him. He leans over and speaks one word in the ear of the gray mare.

  “By the Lord, she was walking before; she was cantering! Now she runs! Now she runs! And the fifty thousand are dumb, white. A solid wall of faces covered with white-wash! D’you see? They’re sick! And then all at once they know they’re seeing a miracle. They have been standing up ever since the horses entered the home-stretch. Now they climb on one another’s shoulders. They forget all about thousands—the hundreds of thousands of dollars which they are going to lose. They only know that they are seeing a great horse. And they love that new, great horse. They scream as they see her come. Women break into tears as the old man shoots past the grand stand. Men shriek and hug each other. They dance.

  “The gray streak shoots on. She is past the others. She is rushing for the finish wire as no horse ever ran before. She is away. One length, two lengths, six lengths of daylight show between her and the rest. She gallops past the finish posts with Elijah looking back at the others!

  “She has won! You have
won, David. I have won. We are rich. Happy. The world’s before us. David, do you see?”

  “Is it possible? But no, Benjamin, not Jurith. Some other, perhaps, Shakra—Glani—”

  “No, we would take Jurith—twenty-five years old!”

  Connor’s last words trailed off into hysterical laughter.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  David was still flushed with the excitement of the tale, and he was perplexed and troubled when Connor’s strange, high laughter brought to an abrupt end the picture they had both lived in.

  The gambler saw the frown on David’s brow, and with an effort he made himself suddenly grave, though he was still pale and shaking.

  “David, this is the reason Jurith can win. Somewhere in the past there was a freak gray horse. There are other kinds of freaks; oranges had seeds in ’em; all at once up pops a tree that has seedless fruit. People plant shoots from it. There you have the naval orange, all out of one tree. It’s the same way with that gray horse. It was a freak; had a high croup and muscles as stretchy as India-rubber, and strong—like the difference between the muscles of a mule and the muscles of most horses. That’s what that first horse was. He was bred and the get came into this valley. They kept improving—and the result is Glani! The Eden Gray, David, is the finest horse in the world because it’s a different and a better horse!”

  The master paused for some time, and Connor knew he was deep in thought. Finally he spoke:

  “But if we know the speed of the Eden Grays, why should we go out into the world and take the money of other men because they do not know how fast our horses run?”

  Connor made sure the master was serious and nerved himself for the second effort.

  “What do you wish, David?”

  “In what measure, Benjamin?”

  “The sky’s the limit! I say, what do you wish? The last wish that was in your head.”

  “Shakra stumbled a little while ago; I wished for a smoother road.”

  “David, with the money we win on the tracks we’ll tear up these roads, cut trenches, fill ’em with solid blocks of rock, lay ’em over with asphalt, make ’em as smooth as glass! What else?”

  “You jest, Benjamin. That is a labor for a thousand men.”

  “I say, it’s nothing to what we’ll do. What else do you want? Turn your mind loose—open up your eyes and see something that’s hard to get.”

  “Every wish is a regret, and why should I fail of gratitude to God by making my wishes? Yet, I have been weak, I confess. I have sometimes loathed the crumbling walls of my house. I have wished for a tall chamber—on the floor a covering which makes no sound, colors about me—crystal vases for my flowers—music when I come—”

  “Stop there! You see that big white cliff? I’ll have that stone cut in chunks as big as you and your horse put together. I’ll have ’em piled on a foundation as strong as the bottom of those hills. You see the way those mountain-tops walk into the sky? That’s how the stairways will step up to the front of your house and put you out on a big terrace with columns scooting up fifty feet, and when you walk across the terrace a couple of great big doors weighing about a ton apiece will drift open and make a whisper when you mosey in. And when you get inside you’ll start looking up and up, but you’ll get dizzy before your eyes hit the ceiling; and up there you’ll see a lighting stunt that looks like a million icicles with the sun behind ’em.”

  He paused an instant for breath and saw David smiling in a hazy pleasure.

  “I follow you,” he said softly. “Go on!” And his hand stretched out as though to open a door.

  “What I’ve told you about is only a beginning. Turn yourself loose; dream, and I’ll turn your dream into stone and color, and fill up your windows with green and gold and red glass till you’ll think a rainbow has got all tangled up there! I’ll give you music that’ll make you forget to think, and when you think I’ll give you a room so big that you’ll have silence with an echo to it.”

  “All this for my horses?”

  “Send one of the grays—just one, and let me place the wagers. You don’t even have to risk your own money. I’ve made a slough of it betting on things that weren’t lead pipe cinches like this. I made on Fidgety Midget at fifty to one. I made on Gosham at eight to one. Nobody told me how to bet on ’em. I know a horse—that’s all! You stay in the Garden; I take one of the grays; I bring her back in six months with more coin than she can pack, and we split it fifty-fifty. You furnish the horse. I furnish the jack. Is it a go?”

  A bird stopped above them, whistled and dipped away over the treetops. David turned his head to follow the trailing song, and Connor realized with a sick heart that he had failed to sweep his man off his feet.

  “Would you have me take charity?” asked David at length.

  It seemed to Connor that there was a smile behind this. He himself burst into a roar of laughter.

  “Sure, it sounds like charity. They’ll be making you a gift right enough. There isn’t a horse on the turf that has a chance with one of the grays! But they’ll bet their money like fools.”

  “Would it not be a sin, then?”

  “What sin?” asked Connor roughly. “Don’t they grab the coin of other people? Does the bookie ask you how much coin you have and if you can afford to lose it? No, he’s out to get all that he can grab. And we’ll go out and do some grabbing in turn. Oh, they’ll squeal when we turn the screw, but they’ll kick through with the jack. No fear, Davie!”

  “Whatever sins may be theirs, Benjamin, those sins need not be mine.”

  Connor was dumb.

  “Because they are foolish,” said David, “should I take advantage of their folly? A new man comes into the valley. He sees Jurith, and notices that she runs well in spite of her years. He says to me: ‘This mare will run faster than your stallion. I have money and this ring upon my finger which I will risk against one dollar of your money; If the mare beats Glani I take your dollar. If Glani beats the mare, you take my purse and my ring; I have no other wealth. It will ruin me, but I am willing to be ruined if Jurith is not faster than Glani.

  “Suppose such foolish man were to come to me, Benjamin, would I not say to him: ‘No, my friend. For I understand better than you, both Jurith and Glani!’ Tell me therefore, Benjamin, that you have tempted me toward a sin, unknowing.”

  It made Connor think of the stubbornness of a woman, or of a priest. It was a quiet assurance which could only be paralleled from a basis of religion or instinct. He knew the danger of pressing too hard upon this instinct or blind faith. He swallowed an oath, and answered, remembering dim lessons out of his childhood:

  “Tell me, David, my brother, is there no fire to burn fools? Is there no rod for the shoulders of the proud? Should not such men be taught?”

  “And I say to you, Benjamin,” said the master of the Garden: “what wrong have these fools done to me with their folly?”

  Connor felt that he was being swept beyond his depth. The other went on, changing his voice to gentleness:

  “No, no! I have even a kindness for men with such blind faith in their horses. When Jacob comes to me and says privately in my ear: ‘David, look at Hira. Is she not far nobler and wiser than Ephraim’s horse, Numan?’ When he says this to me, do I shake my head and frown and say: ‘Risk the clothes on your back and the food you eat to prove what you say.’ No, assuredly I do neither of these things, but I put my hand on his shoulder and I say: ‘He who has faith shall do great things; and a tender master makes a strong colt.’ In this manner I speak to him, knowing that truth is good, but the whole truth is sometimes a fire that purifies, perhaps, but it also destroys. So Jacob goes smiling on his way and gives kind words and fine oats to Hira.”

  Connor turned the flank of this argument.

  “These men are blind. You say that your horses can run a mile in such and such a time, and they shrug their shoulders and answer that they have heard such chatter before—from trainers and stable boys. But you put your horse on a ra
ce track and prove what you say, and they pay for knowledge. Once they see the truth they come to value your horses. You open a stud and your breed is crossed with theirs. The blood of Rustir, passing through the blood of Glani, goes among the best horses of the world. A hundred years from now there will be no good horse in the world, of which men do not ask: ‘Is the blood of Glani in him? Is he of the line of the Eden Grays?’ Consider that, David!”

  He found the master of the Garden frowning. He pressed home the point with renewed vigor.

  “If you live in this valley, David, what will men know of you?”

  “Have you come to take me out of the Garden of Eden?”

  “I have come to make your influence pass over the mountains while you stay here. A hundred years from now who will know David of the Garden of Eden? Of the men who used to live here, who remains? Not one! Where do they live now? Inside your head, inside your head, David, and no other place!”

  “They live with God,” said David hoarsely.

  “But here on earth they don’t live at all except in your mind. And when you die, they die with you. But if you let me do what I say, a thousand years from to-day, people will be saying: ‘There was a man named David, and he had these gray horses, which were the finest in the world, and he gave their blood to the world.’ They’ll pick up every detail of your life, and they’ll trace back the horses—”

  “Do I live for the sake of a horse?” cried David, in a voice unnaturally high.

  “No, but because of your horses the world will ask what sort of a man you are. People will follow your example. They’ll build a hundred Gardens of Eden. Every one of those valleys will be full of the memories of David and the men who went before him. Then, David, you’ll never die!”