CHAPTER VI
THE PROMISE OF LITTLE SAXON
Rose-bud, the unlovely Chinese cook, made the dawn hideous in the rangehouse with his pots and pans and rattling stove lids. To him appearedRed Reckless, touseled and sleepy eyed looking to the astonishedoriental's vision like an avenging demon, threatening to choke him todeath with his own pigtail and to roast him crisp and brown him in hisown oven if he didn't conduct himself with less noise in his pastime ofbreakfast getting.
"Gollee!" Rose-bud found his tongue as Wayne disappeared into hisbedroom. "Led, him come back some more. Led, him boss now!" He stoodgrinning in slant eyed cunning at the closed door. "Garth him all samego bye-bye now, maybeso?" He pondered the question, with his evilfeatured head cocked to one side. Then his grin became more profoundlyChinese, more radiantly joyful. "All same hell pop all time now."
And he went about his preparations for breakfast in strange, complacentsilence, making his coffee twice as strong as he had made it for ayear, the way Red Reckless liked it.
Garth Conway breakfasted alone. A glance out toward the bunk houseagainst the fringe of trees at the far side of the clearing showed himthat there was no smoke there, that the men were not about. A littleangry spot glowing on each cheek he stepped out upon the porch asthough to bring these slumbering men to a swift awakening. But heturned instead and came back into the dining room.
"You Chink fool," he flung at Rose-bud when his cup of coffee was setin front of him. "I don't drink ink for breakfast. What's the matterwith you?"
Rose-bud wrapped his body in his long arms and his face in its childishsmile, lifted his vague hints of eyebrows archly and nodded towardWayne's room.
"Led, him come back," he said with unutterable sweetness. "Him likecoffee all same black as hell. Him boss now? Too bad. You damn fineboss, Mis' Garth."
And he shuffled back to the stove leaving Garth scowling angrily afterhim.
Garth breakfasted in morose silence, disregarding the many joyfulglances which Rose-bud directed upon him. Afterward he took out hispipe and stuffed it full with an impatient finger. The hesitationwhich had marked him last night seemed to grow with the slow hours ofthe idle morning. He had long been absolute, unquestioned dictator ofthe destiny of the Bar L-M, and he had grown naturally into the way ofregarding it half with the eye of its permanent master. It had notonly been his entirely so far as management was concerned for more thantwelve months, but there had been always the possibility that it wouldbe his to have and to hold, to do with as he thought best, if Wayneshould not come back. But Wayne had come back. The coffee waseloquent of the fact; the slothfulness of the bunk house shouted it inhis ears. He felt a sense of irritation, of injustice.
"The men will sleep until noon," he growled savagely. "Good heavens,is he crazy? Must he come back and chuck the whole thing to the dogs?"
There was nothing to do but smoke and wait for the next absurdity of aman who had played ducks and drakes with everything he had ever had,who was too big a fool to see--or care, which was it?--what was goingto happen when he had run to the end of his rope.
Wayne, rosy from head to foot from his rough bath towel, tingling withthe leaping life within him, showing no signs of the all but sleeplessnight, came out to breakfast before Garth had finished his pipe. Hecaught Rose-bud by the two shoulders, drove him back against the walland held him there while he spoke to him.
"I've a notion to jam you through into the other room, you yellowheathen," he informed the cook whose smile was just a trifle uncertain."If the coffee is good I'll let you off."
Rose-bud's smile became radiant immediately. He poured out the blackbeverage with the air of a magician conjuring a stream of gold from theold coffee pot, and evinced as great a pleasure in watching Waynedispose of his breakfast as Wayne himself manifested in the act. Garthcame back into the room while his cousin was eating.
"Well, Wayne," he said. "What's the bill of fare for the day?"
Shandon nodded, swallowed and bade Garth a cheery "Good morning."
"To-day?" he repeated after his cousin. "I'm just going to get a livehorse between my legs and ride! Big Bill tells me that no man hasthrown a leg over Lightfoot's back since I left, and that she's justfull of hell and mustard and aching for a scamper. Bill knows whereshe is; he's going with me to help round her up and then . . ."
"Well?" questioned Garth drily. "You're going to work on her to-day?"
Shandon laughed.
"Who said anything about work? You're growing to be an awfulsobersides, old fellow. Here I haven't been back twenty-four hours andyou're already suggesting that I shove my neck into the yoke. Now, youought to know better than that."
Garth drew deeply at his pipe, his lips tight about the stem.
"You haven't changed much, Wayne," he said presently.
"Who wants to change?" Shandon retorted lightly. "One would think I'dbeen away ten years and it was time for grey hairs and long hours ofsitting still in the sun." He favoured his cousin with a merry,searching glance and added, "You haven't changed much yourself that Ican see."
For no apparent reason Conway flushed slightly and then frowned.
"I had a good hard day's work cut out for the boys," he said casually.
"You're finding plenty to keep them busy, I'll bet," grinned Shandon.
"Yes," carelessly. "We're a bit short handed just now and there isalways a lot to do. I've let a man go here and there when he was justeating his head off for us. A half day lost means that much more hardwork to be made up."
"Get them busy then, will you, Garth? It's decent of you to save allyou could for me, but hang it, don't mind putting on a new man when weneed him. The boys have had enough sleep by now and I've sort ofslipped out of the routine of the work. Will you go ahead and run theoutfit for me until I get back into it? It would be a big favour tome."
Conway swung about toward the door eagerly, and so swiftly that Shandondid not see the light that sprang up in his eyes.
"Glad to," he called back as he went out. "Take your time aboutgetting back into the traces, Wayne."
"Good old Garth," Shandon muttered with deep satisfaction. And then heturned his attention again to the biscuits and bacon.
Garth went immediately to the bunk house. He found the men all asleep;he left them all wide awake.
"Tony," he cried sharply, "come alive there and get the boys somebreakfast. You men know that Mr. Shandon is back, don't you? Do youwant him to think that this is the way we've been attending to hisbusiness for him while he was gone? Bill, get a couple of horsessaddled while Harris is getting breakfast for you, and as soon as youeat report at the house with them. You are to help find Lightfoot."
The boys scrambled out of their bunks, and Tony Harris in picturesquenight raiment was thrusting paper and kindling into his stove beforeGarth had gone ten steps from the door he had slammed behind him. Didthey want Wayne Shandon to think that they had neglected his interestsin his absence? Not by a jug full, growled Big Bill. And he wasn'tthe kind to think it in the first place or to care in the second, hegrunted as he jerked on his overalls and shoved his big feet into hisshoes. Mister Shandon! Huh!
But they took their cue from Conway's sharp words and did not wait forbreakfast to get ready for the day's work. Big Bill was the first inthe corral but the others came trooping after him, roping their horses,saddling and bringing them to the bunk house door to be mounted swiftlyas soon as the morning meal could be finished. And, as usual littleAndy Jennings saddled an extra horse, a graceful, cat-footed mare,cream coloured, with white mane and tail, for Garth Conway.
There were few words spoken in the bunk house as the men made theirhurried meal. Steve Dunham demanded to be told if Red was going to letConway "run things" for him, or if he was going to be his own foremanas his brother had been before him. More than one man lifted hisshoulders at the question. And since there was no answer to be givenyet, since that was the one thing they were all thinki
ng about, it wasalmost a wordless meal.
In a little while Garth Conway was back at the bunk house and swung upinto the saddle, his perfect animal, his own graceful form, hissomewhat picturesque costume, riding breeches, puttees, wide soft hatand gauntlets making a bit of pleasant colour against thecommonplaceness of the ranch yard. He waited impatiently a few minutesuntil the men came out and then rode away toward the lower end of thevalley ordering them curtly to follow him. It was Garth's way; theydidn't know what the day's work was to be, although they might comeclose to guessing, until he chose to tell them. Big Bill aloneremained behind, making his way with two horses to the house, whereWayne came down the steps to meet him.
"Hello, Bill," Wayne greeted him lightly. "Feeling sore this morning?"
"Hello, Red," Big Bill retorted with what was meant to be a scowl butwhich twisted itself in spite of him into a widening grin. "Not soreoutside, seein' as I fell easy. Jus' kinda sore inside thinkin' you'dgo an' play a low down Jap trick on a man. But nex' time . . ."
He shook his head in mock sorrow thinking of the thing that was goingto happen to the merry eyed man from whom he took his pay.
Red laughed, strapped on the spurs clinking at the saddle horn, vaultedfrom the steps to his horse's back and bending suddenly forward shotahead of Big Bill, and sped toward the upper end of the valley wherethe unused horses were grazing. The cowboy, racing behind him, watchedhim with shrewd eyes and a grunted comment that he hadn't forgotten howto ride.
When the horses had "run off" their early morning restlessness the twomen drew them down to a swinging walk and riding side by side foundmuch to talk about. Shandon asked about this, that and the otherhorse, giving each its name as if they were men he spoke of, and BigBill reported promptly and in full detail. Brown Babe had been sickduring the winter; a cold running on until it was touch and go if she'dgo down with the pneumonia. Doc Trip had taken a hand though, Billhimself having ridden thirty miles to fetch the cowboy who had a rudeskill as a veterinary and no little reputation with it, and Brown Babehad pulled through as good as a two year old. Her colt out of Saxon?Say there was a bit of horse flesh for you! Close to three year oldnow and never a rope on him. Little Saxon they called him. Little?Big Bill laughed softly. The name had stuck since he had been a colt.He was bigger than his dad already, although not so heavy, of course,and he had more speed right now than his mother ever thought of having.If they ever did put on a race--Endymion, Little Saxon's full brother?Big Bill shook his head and spat thoughtfully. Sold six months ago.
"Sold?" cried Shandon sharply. "Who sold him?"
"Conway, of course. He's the only man as has sold any Bar L-M stock."
Shandon started to speak, then closed his lips tightly. Big Billlooked at him quickly, then drew his eyes away and let them rest uponhis horse's bobbing ears.
"Of course Garth couldn't know that I didn't want any of the horses,the best horses, sold," Shandon said quietly after a moment. "I wroteto him to use his own judgment in all things, to sell and buy as hethought best. It isn't his fault but-- Hang it, I'm just a littlesorry I didn't think to tell him. Who bought Endymion, Bill?"
"Sledge Hume," answered Big Bill. "He was crazy stuck on the colt thefirs' time he ever laid eyes on him. I guess Conway held him up for apretty stiff price too. He sure had the chance."
"So Hume bought Endymion," said Shandon thoughtfully. And he seemedless pleased than before. "Oh, well, we'll see what we can do withLittle Saxon."
"Little Saxon's a better horse any day in the week," cried Big Billloyally. "He ain't got the stren'th yet, of course, an' he ain't gotthe savvy as comes with trainin'. But he's got the speed an' he's gotthe spirit. Lord, Red, you've got a horse there! Wait ontil you seehim runnin' with the herd. He don't eat dust off nobody's heels."
Shandon's eyes brightened. He had seen possibilities in the two yearold before he went away, when the colt belonged to Arthur, and it wasgood to know that Little Saxon had fulfilled the promise of youth. Andhe saw too, a morning's work ahead of him, such work as the leapingspirit of Red Reckless loved. A wild scamper across the upper end ofthe narrow valley, skirting the lake perhaps; a headlong race after ahorse born of Brown Babe and the high spirited stallion Saxon; theswinging of a rope in a hand that had not known the feel of one for ayear; and the final conquest that would come when at last that ropesettled about the defiant neck.
"For we'll get Lightfoot first, Bill," he said eagerly. "LittleSaxon'll have to go some when I've got Lady Lightfoot under me. Andthen we'll take the three year old in and begin breaking him."
Big Bill chuckled joyously. And as Garth had said before him hemuttered that Wayne Shandon hadn't changed much.
As they rode the valley widened for a little before them, the steepwall of cliffs and crags drawing back upon the right, lifting theircrests ever higher, topped by few scattering pines, firs and tamaracks.Here and there a giant cedar flourished in isolated majesty, liftingits delicately formed cones a hundred and fifty feet above its ancient,gnarled roots. The valley itself was for the most part clear of timberand scrub. The herds had not yet come up here this year, and would notcome until the lower end had been thoroughly fed off. For here therewould be grazing land in abundance until the winter came and all herdsmust be moved to the pastures far down the mountains where the snowfall was never more than a few thawing inches.
Conversation between the two men died down as they pushed deeper intothe solitudes. When they had ridden a couple of miles, the valleynarrowed again, the timber line crept in closer at every yard, themountains drew in abruptly and rose more precipitously in sheer,frowning, dominant majesty, the river shot hissing down its rockycourse, a wild thing plunging madly toward freedom and an open world.
So with few words, each man's thoughts wandering as chance and theriver and mountains directed them, Shandon and Big Bill rode slowly.That trail brought them at last down close to the edge of the stream asthe banks on either hand drew closer together until finally the waterchoked and fumed and thundered through a narrow pass. Here they mustturn away from its course, climbing a steep shoulder of the mountain,making a difficult way along a seldom used trail, until they came tothe crest of the ridge which shot down from the right. Another fiftyyards, almost level going, a steep descent and suddenly the fury of theriver was but a faint rumbling in their ears, the stillness of themountains crept down on them and they were at the margin of LaughterLake.
With a sigh long, deep, lung filling, Wayne Shandon curbed his horse toa standstill. Big Bill turned his head away and a little hurriedlysought for his "makings." For Big Bill had a memory, as so many sonsof the frontier places have, a memory that filed and kept record oflittle things as well as of what the world calls big things. Heremembered the day when Wayne Shandon had last ridden here, just theday before Arthur was killed. Wayne and Arthur had come here together;Arthur with some business reason, of course; equally of course Wayne ina mere spirit of idling. The younger brother had ridden along to tryout a new rifle he had bought--
"Come on, Bill. Let's find the horses."
Wayne leaned forward suddenly in the saddle, loosened his reins andtouched his horse's sides with his spurred heels. And so they racedalong the side of the lake as they had raced from the range house, RedReckless sitting straight in the saddle, his head lifted, his broad hatpushed far back, his tall, powerful body swaying gracefully, easilywith his horse's stride.
They found Lady Lightfoot with a herd of half wild animals in a littlehollow beyond the head of the lake. A great snorting and stamping, aflinging aloft of proud heads upon arching necks, the flurry of manesand tails, black, red, white, all confused in a rush of colour, thehammering thud of unshod hoofs on soft grassy soil and the herd hadfollowed Lady Lightfoot's lead in wild flight toward the far end of thetiny valley. A wonderful creature was Lady Lightfoot, trim and slenderand graceful as a maiden, her coat a little rough from her year in thewoods, her silken mane snarled, but her spirit showing in
the toss ofher head, the cock of her ears, the flare of her nostrils, the fire ofher eyes.
"Watch!" yelled Big Bill as he and Shandon thundered along after them,their ropes already in their hands, nooses widening. "See who takesher lead away from her!"
It was half a mile to the far end of the little valley where the almostsheer pitch of the mountains would bring the fleeing animals to a stop.And before they had gone a hundred yards Wayne Shandon's eyes haddiscovered Little Saxon.
The colt had been almost the last of the two score horses when theirstartled flight began; already he was seeking the place that wasrightfully his, already he had passed half of the herd and running likesome great greyhound, was eating up the distance which lay between hisoutstretched nose and Lady Lightfoot's flickering hoofs. A horse to beseen in a flash by a knowing eye even in a herd many times bigger thanthis one. A king of a horse, standing a hand taller than the tallestof his companions, with great flowing muscles moving liquidly, withiron lungs under a vast iron chest, with a neck every fine line ofwhich revealed the racing thoroughbred, with tireless strength in thetensing shoulders and hips, with speed in the delicately formed,slender legs; running easily, every leaping stride hurling his greatbody in advance of some one of the other horses, his floating mane andtail spun silk that flashed in the sun like shimmering gold, hisflashing hoofs like a deer's for dainty grace, his coat a deep, rich,red bay.
"Watch him run!" shouted Big Bill. "Watch him run!"
Two lengths behind Lady Lightfoot, a length . . . and then Little Saxonhad slipped by, flashed by, passed like a gleam of summer sunlight, andthe mare snapped viciously at the lean, clean body that brushed againsther own, robbing her of her place. Big Bill laughed joyously.
"Jealous as a cat, huh, Red? See that?"
"And no man has ever ridden him," muttered Shandon. "Only one man isever going to ride you, Little Saxon."
But that day they did not take Little Saxon with them back to the homecorrals; it would be many a day yet before Little Saxon's trainingbegan, before his proud spirit compromised with steel and leather and amaster's hand.
With half the distance to the far end of the little valley passed,Little Saxon was a length ahead of Lady Lightfoot, his quiveringnostrils scenting danger behind, free range and freedom ahead. ThusLittle Saxon first, Lady Lightfoot jealously guarding and keeping herplace as second in the headlong flight, a slim barrelled sorrel closeat the Lady's heels, the rest of the horses following in a close packedbody, the fleeing animals came to the natural bulwark which themountains lifted before them. Their ropes swinging in ever wideningloops, hissing swifter and swifter until in broadening circles theysang shrilly, Wayne Shandon and Big Bill swept on after them.
"Lightfoot first!" cried Shandon sharply. "It's too rocky, Bill--"
The ground was too broken to chance putting a rope over the defiantneck of the three year old who had never known what it was to have hemptouch his lithe body. With Lady Lightfoot it was different. She wouldleap aside, she would throw her head one way or the other as she sawthe lasso leave the hand of her would-be captor; but once it touchedher she would stop stone still, too wise, too experienced to struggleagainst the inevitable.
At last the fleeing horses stopped, whirled and with up-pricked earsand flashing eyes waited and watched. Lady Lightfoot's angry snorttrumpeted her fear and defiance; she moved not so much as a muscleexcept of her eyes which swept swiftly back and forth from Big Bill toShandon, from Shandon to Big Bill. Then, as almost at the same instanttwo ropes sped their hissing way toward her she leaped forward, swervedaside, dropped her head a little--and then, instead of breaking into awild flight, she bunched her four feet and slid to a tremblingstandstill before either rope had tightened about a steel saddle horn.
"Wise ol' lady," chuckled Big Bill as he and Shandon rode closer to themare coiling their ropes. "Ain't forgot who's who, have you, Lady?"
The other horses saw their chance and took it. Little Saxon in thelead from the first terrified leap, they shot by Lady Lightfoot,swerved widely about Shandon, and were off and away down the valley.
"Let 'em go," cried Shandon. "We'll follow in a minute and drive themon down to the corrals."
He swung down from his saddle and went up to Lady Lightfoot's highlifted head, a head that rose higher in the air as he drew near.Laying a gentle hand on the quivering nose, he rubbed it softly,speaking to the animal in a tone that coaxed and soothed and assured.He talked to her as a man talks who loves a horse, understands it--ashe might talk to a human being. And Big Bill, watching, nodded andgrunted approval as he saw Shandon slip the hard bit between the strongteeth, and at last swing up into the saddle and turn a high spiritedbut well trained and obedient mare down the valley after the runaways.
Fifteen minutes later they caught up with the stragglers of LittleSaxon's followers. And it was then that Little Saxon snorted his lastdefiance at pursuit and achieved his freedom.
The animals had been driven again into a woodland _cul de sac_. Herethere was a wide reaching plot of grassy, unbroken soil, and here thetwo men counted upon teaching the three year old his first lesson ofthe supremacy of man. As they drew nearer their ropes were againready, trailing at their sides. Again the horses drew close together,bunched in a mass of watchful distrust. Little Saxon alone heldslightly apart, his great head lifted high, scenting mischief. He sawthe ropes before they were lifted, and at the first whirl of hemp intothe hated loop he knew instinctively that it was he whom theythreatened.
"We've got him," grunted Big Bill, confident too soon of easy victory.
Behind the herd rose the cliffs, in front the men came on and at theside was a deep gorge, so steep sided that a horse would not think ofgoing down into it, washed wide by the spring torrents. It neverentered Big Bill's head nor Wayne Shandon's nor the heads of theterrified companions of Little Saxon that there was a way in thatdirection open for flight. But Little Saxon saw his enemies comingthreateningly nearer and he took his chance. He drew back until hisgolden tail swept the granite cliffs; he paused there a brief second,with flashing eyes, measuring chance and distance; he gathered hisgreat muscles as he had never gathered them before; his vast chestswelled to a mighty sigh; and then, before Wayne Shandon or Big Billhad guessed the plan that had risen in his brain he had wagered hislife against his liberty.
"Back, Bill!" shouted Shandon warningly, throwing Lady Lightfoot backon her haunches, swinging her away from the plunging three year old."He's going to jump!"
"God!" yelled Big Bill, as he too jerked his horse back. "He'll breakhis neck!"
They saw the big horse running, already as a blur of speed before hehad done the thirty yards to the rock walled gorge, saw the glintinglight from floating mane and tail, heard the thunder of his poundinghoofs, and then--
Then Little Saxon put into his gliding muscles all of the thoroughbredspirit that was in his blood, and taking recklessly his one chance hehurled his great body forward, leaping splendidly. For an instant asthat rebellious, beautiful body was suspended in mid air, high abovecertain death, neither man breathed. Then, with the sharp sound ofhard hoofs striking hard rock, Little Saxon landed easily and safelyupon the far side, and his silken mane, flowing tail and red bay hideshining with a metallic gleam in the sunlight, he had passed on,through the trees, into an open trail, around a bend and out of sight.
Big Bill rode close up to the gorge.
"I wouldn't jump a horse acrost that for a million dollars!" he said,wondering at what he had seen.
And Wayne Shandon, his eyes very bright, his face a little flushed,cried eagerly,
"A mere horse, no. But Little Saxon isn't that! He's more cleanspirit than horse flesh!"
Big Bill did not answer. Perhaps he had not heard. He was thinking:
"When he does break Little Saxon--that wild devil of a man on that wilddevil of a horse-- What a pair of them!"
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