Bull Hunter
CHAPTER 13
He went out the back door of the hotel so that few people might markhis leaving, and cut for the woods. Once in them, he changed hisdirection to the east, heading for the lower, rolling hills in thatdirection. He turned back when the lights of the town had drawn intoone small, glimmering ray. Then this, too, went out, and with it thepain of leaving Pete Reeve became acute. He felt lost and alone, thatkeen mind had guided him so long. As he stalked along with the greatswinging strides through the darkness, the holster rubbed on his thighand he remembered Pete. Truly he had come into the hands of Pete Reevea child, and he was leaving him as a man.
The dawn found him forty miles away and still swinging strongly downthe winding road. It was better country now. The desert sand haddisappeared, and here the soil supported a good growth of grass thatwould fatten the cattle. It was a cheerful country in more ways thanthe greenness of the grass, however. There were no high mountains, buta continual smooth rolling of hills, so that the landscape varied withevery half-mile he traveled. And every now and then he had to jump arunlet of water that murmured across his trail.
A pleasant country, a clear sky, and a cool wind touching at his face.The contentment of Bull Hunter increased with every step he took. Hehad diminished the sharpness of his hunger by taking up a few links ofhis belt, but he was glad when he saw smoke twisting over a hill andcame, on the other side, in view of a crossroads village. He fingeredthe few pieces of silver in his pocket. That would be enough forbreakfast, at least.
It was enough; barely that and no more, for the long walk had made himravenous, and the keenness of his spirits served to put a razor edgeon an appetite which was already sharp. He began eating before theregular breakfast at the little hotel was ready. He ate while theother men were present. He was still eating when they left.
"How much?" he said when he was done.
His host scratched his head.
"I figure three times a regular meal ought to be about it," he said."Even then it don't cover everything; but matter of fact, I'm ashamedto charge any more."
His ruefulness changed to a grin when he had the money in his hand,and Bull Hunter rose from the table.
"But you got something to feed, son," he said. "You certainly gotsomething to feed. And--is what the boys are saying right?"
It came to Bull that while he sat at the table there had been manycurious glances directed toward him, and a humming whisper had passedaround the table more than once. But he was accustomed to these sideglances and murmurs, and he had paid no attention. Besides, food hadbeen before him.
"I don't know. What do they say?"
"That you're Dunbar from the South--Hal Dunbar."
"That's not my name," said Bull. "My name is Hunter."
"I guess they were wrong," said the other. "Trouble is, every timeanybody sees a big man they say, 'There goes Hal Dunbar.' But you'retoo big even to be Dunbar I reckon."
He surveyed the bulk of Bull Hunter with admiring respect. Thispersonal survey embarrassed the big man. He would have withdrawn, buthis host followed with his conversation.
"We know Dunbar is coming up this way, though. He sent the word on upthat he's going to come to ride Diablo. I guess you've heardabout Diablo?"
Bull averred that he had not, and his eyes went restlessly down theroad. It wove in long curves, delightfully white with the bordering ofgreen on either side. He could see it almost tossing among the far-offhills. Now was the time of all times for walking, and if Pete Reevestarted to trail him this morning, he would need to put as muchdistance behind him by night as his long legs could cover. But stillthe hotel proprietor hung beside him. He wanted to make the big mantalk. It was possible that there might be in him a story as big ashis body.
"So you ain't heard of Diablo? Devil is the right name for him. Blackas night and meaner'n a mountain lion. That's Diablo. He's big enoughand strong enough to carry even you. Account of him being so strong,that's why Dunbar wants him."
"Big enough and strong enough to carry me?" repeated Bull Hunter.
He had had unfortunate experiences trying to ride horses. His weightcrushed down their quarters and made them walk with braced legs. To besure, that was up in the high mountains where the horses were littlemore than ponies.
"Yep. Big enough. He's kind of a freak hoss, you see. Runs to almostseventeen hands, I've heard tell, though I ain't seen him. He's overto the Bridewell place yonder in the hills--along about fifteen milesby the road, I figure. He run till he was three without ever beingtaken up, and he got wild as a mustang. They never was good onmanaging on the Bridewell place, you see? And then when they tried tobreak him he started doing some breaking on his own account. They sayhe can jump about halfway to the sky and come down stiff-legged in away that snaps your neck near off. I seen young Huniker along about amonth after he tried to ride Diablo. Huniker was a pretty good rider,by all accounts, but he was sure a sick gent around hosses afterDiablo got through with him. Scared of a ten-year-old mare, Hunikerwas, after Diablo finished with him. Scott Porter tried him, too. Thatwas a fight! Lasted close onto an hour, they say, nip and tuck all theway. Diablo wasn't bucking all the time. No, he ain't that way. Hewaits in between spells till he's thought up something new to do. Andhe's always thinking, they say. But if he wasn't so mean he'd be awonderful hoss. Got a stride as long as from here to that shed,they say."
He rambled on with a growing enthusiasm.
"And think of a hoss like that being given away!"
"Given away?" said Bull with a sudden interest.
And then he remembered that horses were outside of his educationentirely.
He listened with gloomy attention while his host went on. "Yes, sir.Given away is what I said and given away is what I mean. Old ChickBridewell has kept him long enough, he says. He's tired of payingbuckaroos for getting busted up trying to ride that hoss. Man-eater,that's what he calls Diablo, and he wants to give the hoss away to thefirst man that can ride him. Hal Dunbar heard about it and sent upword that he was coming up to ride him."
"He must be a brave man," said Bull innocently. He had an immensecapacity for admiring others.
"Brave?" The proprietor paused as though this had not occurred to himbefore. "Why, they ain't such a thing as fear in Hal Dunbar, I guess.But if he decides to ride Diablo, he'll ride him, well enough. He hashis way about things, Hal Dunbar does."
The sketchy portrait impressed Bull Hunter greatly. "You know him,then?"
"How'd I be mistaking you for him if I knowed him? No, he lives waydown south, but they's a pile heard about him that's never seen him."
For some reason the words of his host remained in the mind of Bull ashe went down the road that day. Oddly enough, he pictured man andhorse as being somewhat alike--Diablo vast and black and fierce, andHal Dunbar dark and huge and terrible of eye, also; which was proofenough that Bull Hunter was a good deal of a child. He cared lessabout the world as it was than for the world as it might be, and aslong as life gave him something to dream about, he did not care in theleast about the facts of existence.
Another man would have been worried about the future; but Bull Hunterwent down the road with his swinging stride, perfectly at peace withhimself and with life. He had not enough money in his pocket to buy ameal, but he was not thinking so far ahead.
It was still well before noon when he came in sight of the Bridewellplace. It varied not a whit from the typical ranch of that region, alow-built collection of sheds and arms sprawling around the ranchhouse itself. About the building was a far-flung network of corrals.Bull Hunter found his way among them and followed a sound ofhammering. He was well among the sheds when a great black stallionshot into view around a nearby corner, tossing his head and mane. Hewas pursued by a shrill voice crying, "Diablo! Hey! You old fool!Stand still ... it's me ... it's Tod!"
To the amazement of Bull Hunter, Diablo the Terrible, Diablo theman-killer, paused and reluctantly turned about, shaking his head asthough he did not wish to obey but was compelled by the f
orce ofconscience. At once a bare-legged boy of ten came in sight, runningand shaking his fist angrily at the giant horse. Indeed, it was atremendous animal. Not the seventeen hands that the hotel proprietorhad described to Bull, but a full sixteen three, and so proudlyhigh-headed, so stout-muscled of body, so magnificently long andtapering of leg, that a wiser horseman than the hotelkeeper might haveput Diablo down for more than seventeen hands.
Most tall horses are like tall men--they are freakish and malformed insome of their members; but Diablo was as trim as a pony. He had thehigh withers, the mightily sloped shoulders, and the short back of aweight carrier. And although at first glance his underpinning seemedtoo frail to bear the great mass of his weight or withstand the effortof his driving power of shoulders and deep, broad thighs, yet a closerreckoning made one aware of the comfortable dimensions of the cannonbone with all that this feature portended. Diablo carried his bulkwith the grace which comes of compacted power well in hand.
Not that Bull Hunter analyzed the stallion in any such fashion. Hewas, literally, ignorant of horseflesh. But in spite of his ignorancethe long neck, not overfleshed, suggested length of stride and themighty girth meant wind beyond exhaustion and told of the great heartwithin. The points of an ordinary animal may be overlooked, but a greathorse speaks for himself in every language and to every man. He wascoal-black, this Diablo, except for the white stocking of his offforefoot; he was night-black, and so silken sleek that, as he turnedand pranced, flashes of light glimmered from shoulders to flanks.
Bull Hunter stared in amazement that changed to appreciation, andappreciation that burst in one overpowering instant to the fullunderstanding of the beauty of the horse. Joy entered the heart of thebig man. He had looked on horses hitherto as pretty pictures perhaps,but useless to him. Here was an animal that could bear him like thewind wherever he would go. Here was a horse who could galloptirelessly under him all day and labor through the mountains, bearinghim as lightly as the cattle ponies bore ordinary men. The cumbersomefeeling of his own bulk, which usually weighed heavily on Bull,disappeared. He felt light of heart and light of limb.
In the meantime the bare-legged boy had come to the side of the bighorse, still shrilling his anger. He stood under the lofty head of thestallion and shook his small fist into the face of Diablo theTerrible. And while Bull, quaking, expected to see the head torn fromthe shoulders of the child, Diablo pointed his ears and sniffed thefist of the boy inquisitively.
In fact, this could not be the horse of which the hotelkeeper had toldhim, or perhaps he had been recently tamed and broken?
That, for some reason, made the heart of Bull Hunter sink.
The boy now reached up and twisted his fingers into the mane of theblack.
"Come along now. And if you pull away ag'in, you old fool, Diablo,I'll give you a thumping, I tell you. Git along!"
Diablo meekly lowered his head and made his step mincing to regulatehis gait to that of his tiny master. He was brought alongside a railfence. There he waited patiently while the boy climbed up to the toprail and then slid onto his back. Again Bull Hunter caught his breath.He expected to see the stallion leap into the air and snap the childhigh above his head with a single arching of his back, but there wasno such violent reaction. Diablo, indeed, turned his head with hisears flattened and bared his teeth, but it was only to snort at theknee of the boy. Plainly he was bluffing, if horses ever bluffed. Theboy carelessly dug his brown toes into the cheek of the great horseand shoved his head about.
"Giddap," he called. "Git along, Diablo!"
Diablo walked gently forward.
"Hurry up! I ain't got all day!" And the boy thumped the giant withhis bare heels.
Diablo broke into a trot as soft, as smooth flowing, as water passingover a smooth bed of sand. Bull ran to the corner of the shed andgaped after them until the pair slid around a corner and were gone.Instinctively he drew off his hat and gaped.
He was startled back to himself by loud laughter nearby, and, lookingup, he saw an old fellow in overalls with a handful of nails and ahammer. He stood among a scattering of uprights which represented,apparently, the beginnings of the skeleton of a barn. Now he leanedagainst one of these uprights and indulged his mirth. Bull regardedhim mildly; he was used to being laughed at.