CHAPTER XXXVI
Shoeing the Buckskin
Hartigan and the blacksmith were at it hard again.
"Look a' here," said Shives, "I want ye to notice all this here Churchbusiness was faked up by that man Paul, or Saul, or whatever he calledhimself; and the real disciples would have nothing to do with him. Theythrew him down cold whenever he tried to mix in. Now if you chuck himand stick to the simple kindness of the old-timers that really did sitaround with the Master--Paul _never even saw_ Him!--I'm willing to hearye. But a man that writes whole screeds about getting or not gettingmarried and what kind of frippery women have to wear on their heads,well, I've got him sized up for a fellow that had a dressing down fromsome woman and probably deserved all he got--and more."
It was a long speech for Shives and more than once John Higginbothamtried to break in.
But Shives struck the anvil a succession of ringing blows whichoverpowered all rival voices as effectively as any speaker's gavel couldhave done. Then, turning suddenly on Higginbotham, he said, "See here,_Deacon_" (and he stressed the "Deacon"), "if you take the trouble toread a publication called the Bible, and in particular the early numbersof the second volume, you'll find that the Big Teacher taughtsocialism--and the real disciples did, too. It was that little lawyerfeller Paul that succeeded in twisting things around to the old basis of'get all you can; there must always be rich and poor'; and it ain't abit of use your preaching to a man 'don't steal,' when his babies arecrying for bread. I know I'd steal fast enough; so would you, if youwere anything of a man. It would be your 'fore-God duty to steal; yes,and murder, too, if there was no other way of feeding them that He gaveyou to feed. And the law has no right to preach 'no stealing' when itfixes it so you can't help stealing. If this yere government of ours waswhat it pretends to be and ain't, it would arrange so every man couldget enough work at least to feed him and his folks and save himself fromstarvation when he was sick or old. There wouldn't be any stealing thenand mighty little of any other crime.
"That's my opinion; and I tell you it was that way the Big Teacherpreached it in the beginning, as you can see plain enough. And the firstring of disciples were honest socialists. It was that letter-writingadvance agent of the trusts that you call _Saint_ Paul, that managed toget control of the company and then twisted things back into the oldways. And in my opinion the hull bunch of you is crooks hiding behindthe name of a good man who threw you down cold when He was alive. Andthe very words He used happens to be a verse I remember: 'Ye compass seaand land to make one proselyte and when he is made ye make him twofoldmore a child of hell than yourselves.'"
And the anvil rang, "clang, clang, clang!"
"Now, Shives," bawled Jim in his stentorian voice, "you haven't _begun_to think. And every statement you make is wrong and none of yourquotations ever happened before; otherwise, I am quite willing to accepteverything you say. For example----"
"Hello! who's this?"
Up to the door of the blacksmith shop came riding a band of mountedIndians. First of these was a middle-sized man with large squarefeatures, a single eagle feather in his hair. Hartigan recognized atonce the famous War Chief, Red Cloud, the leader of all the Sioux.Riding beside him was an interpreter, and behind him was a small boy,mounted on a tall pony--buckskin, so far as one could tell, but soshrouded in a big blanket that little of his body was seen; his head wasbedizened with a fancy and expensive bridle gear.
The whole shop turned to see. The interpreter got down and approachingShives, said, "You can shoe pony, when he ain't never been shod?"
"Sure thing," said Shives, "we do it every day."
"How much?"
"Five dollars."
"Do him now?"
"Yes, I guess so."
The interpreter spoke to Red Cloud; the Chief motioned to the boy, whodropped from the blanketed pony and led it forward.
"Bring him in here," and Shives indicated the shop. But that was not soeasy. The pony had never before been under a roof, and now he positivelydeclined to break his record. Some men would have persisted and felt ittheir duty to show the horse "who is boss." Shives was inclined to bemasterful; it was Hartigan who sized up the situation.
"He's never been under a roof, Jack. I wouldn't force him; it'll onlymake trouble."
"All right; tie him out there." So the pony was tied on the shady sideof the shop.
Hartigan turned to the half-breed interpreter to ask, "What do you wanthim shod for?" It was well known that the Indians did not shoe theirhorses.
The half-breed spoke to Red Cloud, who was standing near with his men,talking among themselves.
The Chief said something; then the interpreter replied, "By and by, werace him, maybe on the Big Wet Sunday; prairie wet, so he go slow."
There was a general chuckle at this. Sure enough, the Fourth of July,presumably the race day in mind, it nearly always rained; and for thewet track they wanted their racer shod.
There are few short operations that take more horse management that thefirst shoeing of a full-grown horse, especially a wild Indian pony.Nearly everything depends on the handling and on the courage of thepony. In nine cases out of ten, the pony must be thrown. On rareoccasions a very brave horse, of good temper, can be shod by a cleverfarrier without throwing. But it takes a skilful shoer, with a strongand skilful helper, for the assistant must keep one front foot of thehorse off the ground all the time the hind shoe is being put on, or theshoer is liable to get his brains kicked out. As they were discussingthe need of throwing the pony, the interpreter said:
"Red Cloud no want him thrown. Chaska hold him." The bright-eyed boyfrom the mountain top--yes, the same--came forward and, holding thepony's head, began crooning a little song. The pony rubbed his noseagainst him, recovered his calm, and thanks to Hartigan's help--for hehad volunteered eagerly to lend a hand--the operation progressed withoutmishap. There were, however, one or two little tussles, in which thegreat blanket slipped off the pony's back and showed a rounded,beautiful barrel of a chest, hocks like a deer, and smooth, clean limbs;a very unusually fine build for an Indian pony.
"By George! He's a good one," said Jim, and his heart warmed to thebrave pony. The falling of the blanket also showed some white spots,left by ancient saddle galls. Hartigan, after a discriminating glance,said:
"Say, boys, this is their racer all right. This is the famous BuckskinCayuse. He's a good one. Now you see why they want him shod."
What a temptation it was to the white men; how easy it would have beenfor Shives to put one nail in a trifle deep, to send that pony forthshod--well shod--but shod so that within the next ten miles he would golame, and in the race, a month ahead, fall far behind--if, indeed, heraced at all. Yet, to his credit be it said that Shives handled thatpony as though it were his own; he gave him every care, and Red Cloudpaid the five dollars and rode away content.
Jim gazed after the little band as they loped gently down the street andround the curve till a bank cut off the view. "Say, boys, this isgreat," he said, "I wouldn't have missed it for anything. There's goingto be a real race this year."
There could be no question of that. The securing of Blazing Star was aguarantee of a wonderful event if widespread interest and finehorseflesh could make it so.
The Preacher of Cedar Mountain: A Tale of the Open Country Page 37