The Virginian: A Horseman of the Plains

  XXV. PROGRESS OF THE LOST DOG

  It was not even an hour's visit that the Virginian was able to payhis lady love. But neither had he come a hundred miles to see her. Thenecessities of his wandering work had chanced to bring him close enoughfor a glimpse of her, and this glimpse he took, almost on the wing. Forhe had to rejoin a company of men at once.

  "Yu' got my letter?" he said.

  "Yesterday."

  "Yesterday! I wrote it three weeks ago. Well, yu' got it. This cannotbe the hour with you that I mentioned. That is coming, and maybe verysoon."

  She could say nothing. Relief she felt, and yet with it something like apang.

  "To-day does not count," he told her, "except that every time I see youcounts with me. But this is not the hour that I mentioned."

  What little else was said between them upon this early morning shall betold duly. For this visit in its own good time did count momentously,though both of them took it lightly while its fleeting minutes passed.He returned to her two volumes that she had lent him long ago andwith Taylor he left a horse which he had brought for her to ride. As agood-by, he put a bunch of flowers in her hand. Then he was gone, andshe watched him going by the thick bushes along the stream. They werepink with wild roses; and the meadow-larks, invisible in the grass,like hiding choristers, sent up across the empty miles of air theirunexpected song. Earth and sky had been propitious, could he havestayed; and perhaps one portion of her heart had been propitious too.So, as he rode away on Monte, she watched him, half chilled by reason,half melted by passion, self-thwarted, self-accusing, unresolved.Therefore the days that came for her now were all of them unhappy ones,while for him they were filled with work well done and with changelesslonging.

  One day it seemed as if a lull was coming, a pause in which he couldat last attain that hour with her. He left the camp and turned his facetoward Bear Creek. The way led him along Butte Creek. Across the streamlay Balaam's large ranch; and presently on the other bank he saw Balaamhimself, and reined in Monte for a moment to watch what Balaam wasdoing.

  "That's what I've heard," he muttered to himself. For Balaam had ledsome horses to the water, and was lashing them heavily because theywould not drink. He looked at this spectacle so intently that he did notsee Shorty approaching along the trail.

  "Morning," said Shorty to him, with some constraint.

  But the Virginian gave him a pleasant greeting, "I was afraid I'd notcatch you so quick," said Shorty. "This is for you." He handed hisrecent foreman a letter of much battered appearance. It was from theJudge. It had not come straight, but very gradually, in the pockets ofthree successive cow-punchers. As the Virginian glanced over it and sawthat the enclosure it contained was for Balaam, his heart fell. Herewere new orders for him, and he could not go to see his sweetheart.

  "Hello, Shorty!" said Balaam, from over the creek. To the Virginian hegave a slight nod. He did not know him, although he knew well enough whohe was.

  "Hyeh's a letter from Judge Henry for yu'" said the Virginian, and hecrossed the creek.

  Many weeks before, in the early spring, Balaam had borrowed two horsesfrom the Judge, promising to return them at once. But the Judge, ofcourse, wrote very civilly. He hoped that "this dunning reminder" mightbe excused. As Balaam read the reminder, he wished that he had sent thehorses before. The Judge was a greater man than he in the Territory.Balaam could not but excuse the "dunning reminder,"--but he was ready tobe disagreeable to somebody at once.

  "Well," he said, musing aloud in his annoyance, "Judge Henry wants themby the 30th. Well, this is the 24th, and time enough yet."

  "This is the 27th," said the Virginian, briefly.

  That made a difference! Not so easy to reach Sunk Creek in good order bythe 30th! Balaam had drifted three sunrises behind the progress of themonth. Days look alike, and often lose their very names in the quietdepths of Cattle Land. The horses were not even here at the ranch.Balaam was ready to be very disagreeable now. Suddenly he perceived thedate of the Judge's letter. He held it out to the Virginian, and struckthe paper.

  "What's your idea in bringing this here two weeks late?" he said.

  Now, when he had struck that paper, Shorty looked at the Virginian. Butnothing happened beyond a certain change of light in the Southerner'seyes. And when the Southerner spoke, it was with his usual gentlenessand civility. He explained that the letter had been put in his handsjust now by Shorty.

  "Oh," said Balaam. He looked at Shorty. How had he come to be amessenger? "You working for the Sunk Creek outfit again?" said he.

  "No," said Shorty.

  Balaam turned to the Virginian again. "How do you expect me to get thosehorses to Sunk Creek by the 30th?"

  The Virginian levelled a lazy eye on Balaam. "I ain' doin' anyexpecting," said he. His native dialect was on top to-day. "The Judgehas friends goin' to arrive from New Yawk for a trip across the Basin,"he added. "The hawsses are for them."

  Balaam grunted with displeasure, and thought of the sixty or seventydays since he had told the Judge he would return the horses at once.He looked across at Shorty seated in the shade, and through his uneasythoughts his instinct irrelevantly noted what a good pony the youthrode. It was the same animal he had seen once or twice before. Butsomething must be done. The Judge's horses were far out on the bigrange, and must be found and driven in, which would take certainly therest of this day, possibly part of the next.

  Balaam called to one of his men and gave some sharp orders, emphasizingdetails, and enjoining haste, while the Virginian leaned slightlyagainst his horse, with one arm over the saddle, hearing andunderstanding, but not smiling outwardly. The man departed to saddle upfor his search on the big range, and Balaam resumed the unhitching ofhis team.

  "So you're not working for the Sunk Creek outfit now?" he inquired ofShorty. He ignored the Virginian. "Working for the Goose Egg?"

  "No," said Shorty.

  "Sand Hill outfit, then?"

  "No," said Shorty.

  Balaam grinned. He noticed how Shorty's yellow hair stuck through a holein his hat, and how old and battered were Shorty's overalls. Shorty hadbeen glad to take a little accidental pay for becoming the bearer of theletter which he had delivered to the Virginian. But even that sum was nolonger in his possession. He had passed through Drybone on his way, andat Drybone there had been a game of poker. Shorty's money was now in thepocket of Trampas. But he had one valuable possession in the world leftto him, and that was his horse Pedro.

  "Good pony of yours," said Balaam to him now, from across Butte Creek.Then he struck his own horse in the jaw because he held back from comingto the water as the other had done.

  "Your trace ain't unhitched," commented the Virginian, pointing.

  Balaam loosed the strap he had forgotten, and cut the horse again forconsistency's sake. The animal, bewildered, now came down to the water,with its head in the air, and snuffing as it took short, nervous steps.

  The Virginian looked on at this, silent and sombre. He could scarcelyinterfere between another man and his own beast. Neither he nor Balaamwas among those who say their prayers. Yet in this omission they werenot equal. A half-great poet once had a wholly great day, and in thatgreat day he was able to write a poem that has lived and become, withmany, a household word. He called it The Rime of the Ancient Mariner.And it is rich with many lines that possess the memory; but these arethe golden ones:

  "He prayeth well who loveth well Both man and bird and beast.

  He prayeth best who loveth best All things both great and small; For the dear God who loveth us, He made and loveth all."

  These lines are the pure gold. They are good to teach children; becauseafter the children come to be men, they may believe at least some partof them still. The Virginian did not know them,--but his heart hadtaught him many things. I doubt if Balaam knew them either. But on himthey would have been as pearls to swine.

  "So you've quit the round-up?" he resumed to Shorty.

  Shorty nodded and looke
d sidewise at the Virginian.

  For the Virginian knew that he had been turned off for going to sleepwhile night-herding.

  Then Balaam threw another glance on Pedro the horse.

  "Hello, Shorty!" he called out, for the boy was departing. "Don't youlike dinner any more? It's ready about now."

  Shorty forded the creek and slung his saddle off, and on invitationturned Pedro, his buckskin pony, into Balaam's pasture. This was green,the rest of the wide world being yellow, except only where Butte Creek,with its bordering cottonwoods, coiled away into the desert distancelike a green snake without end. The Virginian also turned his horse intothe pasture. He must stay at the ranch till the Judge's horses should befound.

  "Mrs. Balaam's East yet," said her lord, leading the way to his diningroom.

  He wanted Shorty to dine with him, and could not exclude the Virginian,much as he should have enjoyed this.

  "See any Indians?" he enquired.

  "Na-a!" said Shorty, in disdain of recent rumors.

  "They're headin' the other way," observed the Virginian. "Bow Laig Rangeis where they was repawted."

  "What business have they got off the reservation, I'd like to know,"said the ranchman, "Bow Leg, or anywhere?"

  "Oh, it's just a hunt, and a kind of visitin' their friends on the SouthReservation," Shorty explained. "Squaws along and all."

  "Well, if the folks at Washington don't keep squaws and all where theybelong," said Balaam, in a rage, "the folks in Wyoming Territory 'ill doa little job that way themselves."

  "There's a petition out," said Shorty. "Paper's goin' East with a lot ofnames to it. But they ain't no harm, them Indians ain't."

  "No harm?" rasped out Balaam. "Was it white men druv off the O. C.yearlings?"

  Balaam's Eastern grammar was sometimes at the mercy of his Westernfeelings. The thought of the perennial stultification of Indian affairsat Washington, whether by politician or philanthropist, was always sureto arouse him. He walked impatiently about while he spoke, and haltedimpatiently at the window. Out in the world the unclouded day wasshining, and Balaam's eye travelled across the plains to where a blueline, faint and pale, lay along the end of the vast yellow distance.That was the beginning of the Bow Leg Mountains. Somewhere over therewere the red men, ranging in unfrequented depths of rock and pine--theirforbidden ground.

  Dinner was ready, and they sat down.

  "And I suppose," Balaam continued, still hot on the subject, "you'dclaim Indians object to killing a white man when they run on to him goodand far from human help? These peaceable Indians are just the worst inthe business."

  "That's so," assented the easy-opinioned Shorty, exactly as if he hadalways maintained this view. "Chap started for Sunk Creek three weeksago. Trapper he was; old like, with a red shirt. One of his horses comeinto the round-up Toosday. Man ain't been heard from." He ate in silencefor a while, evidently brooding in his childlike mind. Then he said,querulously, "I'd sooner trust one of them Indians than I wouldTrampas."

  Balaam slanted his fat bullet head far to one side, and laying his spoondown (he had opened some canned grapes) laughed steadily at his guestwith a harsh relish of irony.

  The guest ate a grape, and perceiving he was seen through, smiled backrather miserably.

  "Say, Shorty," said Balaam, his head still slanted over, "what's thefigures of your bank balance just now?"

  "I ain't usin' banks," murmured the youth.

  Balaam put some more grapes on Shorty's plate, and drawing a cigar fromhis waistcoat, sent it rolling to his guest.

  "Matches are behind you," he added. He gave a cigar to the Virginian asan afterthought, but to his disgust, the Southerner put it in his pocketand lighted a pipe.

  Balaam accompanied his guest, Shorty, when he went to the pasture tosaddle up and depart. "Got a rope?" he asked the guest, as they lifteddown the bars.

  "Don't need to rope him. I can walk right up to Pedro. You stay back."

  Hiding his bridle behind him, Shorty walked to the river-bank, where thepony was switching his long tail in the shade; and speaking persuasivelyto him, he came nearer, till he laid his hand on Pedro's dusky mane,which was many shades darker than his hide. He turned expectantly, andhis master came up to his expectations with a piece of bread.

  "Eats that, does he?" said Balaam, over the bars.

  "Likes the salt," said Shorty. "Now, n-n-ow, here! Yu' don't guessyu'll be bridled, don't you? Open your teeth! Yu'd like to play yu' wasnobody's horse and live private? Or maybe yu'd prefer ownin' a saloon?"

  Pedro evidently enjoyed this talk, and the dodging he made about thebit. Once fairly in his mouth, he accepted the inevitable, and followedShorty to the bars. Then Shorty turned and extended his hand.

  "Shake!" he said to his pony, who lifted his forefoot quietly and put itin his master's hand. Then the master tickled his nose, and he wrinkledit and flattened his ears, pretending to bite. His face wore anexpression of knowing relish over this performance. "Now the otherhoof," said Shorty; and the horse and master shook hands with theirleft. "I learned him that," said the cow-boy, with pride and affection."Say, Pede," he continued, in Pedro's ear, "ain't yu' the best littlehorse in the country? What? Here, now! Keep out of that, you dead-beat!There ain't no more bread." He pinched the pony's nose, one quarter ofwhich was wedged into his pocket.

  "Quite a lady's little pet!" said Balaam, with the rasp in his voice."Pity this isn't New York, now, where there's a big market for harmlesshorses. Gee-gees, the children call them."

  "He ain't no gee-gee," said Shorty, offended. "He'll beat any cow-ponyworkin' you've got. Yu' can turn him on a half-dollar. Don't need totouch the reins. Hang 'em on one finger and swing your body, and he'llturn."

  Balaam knew this, and he knew that the pony was only a four-year-old."Well," he said, "Drybone's had no circus this season. Maybe they'd buytickets to see Pedro. He's good for that, anyway."

  Shorty became gloomy. The Virginian was grimly smoking. Here wassomething else going on not to his taste, but none of his business.

  "Try a circus," persisted Balaam. "Alter your plans for spending cash intown, and make a little money instead."

  Shorty having no plans to alter and no cash to spend, grew still moregloomy.

  "What'll you take for that pony?" said Balaam.

  Shorty spoke up instantly. "A hundred dollars couldn't buy that pieceof stale mud off his back," he asserted, looking off into the skygrandiosely.

  But Balaam looked at Shorty, "You keep the mud," he said, "and I'll giveyou thirty dollars for the horse."

  Shorty did a little professional laughing, and began to walk toward hissaddle.

  "Give you thirty dollars," repeated Balaam, picking a stone up andslinging it into the river.

  "How far do yu' call it to Drybone?" Shorty remarked, stooping toinvestigate the bucking-strap on his saddle--a superfluous performance,for Pedro never bucked.

  "You won't have to walk," said Balaam. "Stay all night, and I'll sendyou over comfortably in the morning, when the wagon goes for the mail."

  "Walk?" Shorty retorted. "Drybone's twenty-five miles. Pedro'll put methere in three hours and not know he done it." He lifted the saddle onthe horse's back. "Come, Pedro," said he.

  "Come, Pedro!" mocked Balaam.

  There followed a little silence.

  "No, sir," mumbled Shorty, with his head under Pedro's belly, busilycinching. "A hundred dollars is bottom figures."

  Balaam, in his turn, now duly performed some professional laughing,which was noted by Shorty under the horse's belly. He stood up andsquared round on Balaam. "Well, then," he said, "what'll yu give forhim?"

  "Thirty dollars," said Balaam, looking far off into the sky, as Shortyhad looked.

  "Oh, come, now," expostulated Shorty.

  It was he who now did the feeling for an offer and this was what Balaamliked to see. "Why yes," he said, "thirty," and looked surprised that heshould have to mention the sum so often.

  "I thought yu'd quit them first figure
s," said the cow-puncher, "for yu'can see I ain't goin' to look at em."

  Balaam climbed on the fence and sat there "I'm not crying for yourPedro," he observed dispassionately. "Only it struck me you were deadbroke, and wanted to raise cash and keep yourself going till you huntedup a job and could buy him back." He hooked his right thumb inside hiswaistcoat pocket. "But I'm not cryin' for him," he repeated. "He'd stayright here, of course. I wouldn't part with him. Why does he stand thatway? Hello!" Balaam suddenly straightened himself, like a man who hasmade a discovery.

  "Hello, what?" said Shorty, on the defensive.

  Balaam was staring at Pedro with a judicial frown. Then he stuck out afinger at the horse, keeping the thumb hooked in his pocket. So meagrea gesture was felt by the ruffled Shorty to be no just way to point atPedro. "What's the matter with that foreleg there?" said Balaam.

  "Which? Nothin's the matter with it!" snapped Shorty.

  Balaam climbed down from his fence and came over with elaboratedeliberation. He passed his hand up and down the off foreleg. Then hespit slenderly. "Mm!" he said thoughtfully; and added, with a shade ofsadness, "that's always to be expected when they're worked too young."

  Shorty slid his hand slowly over the disputed leg. "What's to beexpected?" he inquired--"that they'll eat hearty? Well, he does."

  At this retort the Virginian permitted himself to laugh in audiblesympathy.

  "Sprung," continued Balaam, with a sigh. "Whirling round short when hisbones were soft did that. Yes."

  "Sprung!" Shorty said, with a bark of indignation. "Come on, Pede; youand me'll spring for town."

  He caught the horn of the saddle, and as he swung into place the horserushed away with him. "O-ee! yoi-yup, yup, yup!" sang Shorty, in theshrill cow dialect. He made Pedro play an exhibition game of speed,bringing him round close to Balaam in a wide circle, and then hevanished in dust down the left-bank trail.

  Balaam looked after him and laughed harshly. He had seen trout dashabout like that when the hook in their jaw first surprised them. He knewShorty would show the pony off, and he knew Shorty's love for Pedrowas not equal to his need of money. He called to one of his men, askedsomething about the dam at the mouth of the canyon, where the mainirrigation ditch began, made a remark about the prolonged drought, andthen walked to his dining-room door, where, as he expected, Shorty methim.

  "Say," said the youth, "do you consider that's any way to talk about agood horse?"

  "Any dude could see the leg's sprung," said Balaam. But he looked atPedro's shoulder, which was well laid back; and he admired his points,dark in contrast with the buckskin, and also the width between the eyes.

  "Now you know," whined Shorty, "that it ain't sprung any more than yourleg's cork. If you mean the right leg ain't plumb straight, I can tellyou he was born so. That don't make no difference, for it ain't weak.Try him onced. Just as sound and strong as iron. Never stumbles. And hedon't never go to jumpin' with yu'. He's kind and he's smart." And themaster petted his pony, who lifted a hoof for another handshake.

  Of course Balaam had never thought the leg was sprung, and he now tookon an unprejudiced air of wanting to believe Shorty's statements if heonly could.

  "Maybe there's two years' work left in that leg," he now observed.

  "Better give your hawss away, Shorty," said the Virginian.

  "Is this your deal, my friend?" inquired Balaam. And he slanted hisbullet head at the Virginian.

  "Give him away, Shorty," drawled the Southerner. "His laig is busted.Mr. Balaam says so."

  Balaam's face grew evil with baffled fury. But the Virginian was gravelyconsidering Pedro. He, too, was not pleased. But he could not interfere.Already he had overstepped the code in these matters. He would havedearly liked--for reasons good and bad, spite and mercy mingled--tohave spoiled Balaam's market, to have offered a reasonable or even anunreasonable price for Pedro, and taken possession of the horse himself.But this might not be. In bets, in card games, in all horse transactionsand other matters of similar business, a man must take care of himself,and wiser onlookers must suppress their wisdom and hold their peace.

  That evening Shorty again had a cigar. He had parted with Pedrofor forty dollars, a striped Mexican blanket, and a pair of spurs.Undressing over in the bunk house, he said to the Virginian, "I'll surebuy Pedro back off him just as soon as ever I rustle some cash." TheVirginian grunted. He was thinking he should have to travel hard toget the horses to the Judge by the 30th; and below that thought lay hisaching disappointment and his longing for Bear Creek.

  In the early dawn Shorty sat up among his blankets on the floor of thebunk house and saw the various sleepers coiled or sprawled in theirbeds; their breathing had not yet grown restless at the nearing of day.He stepped to the door carefully, and saw the crowding blackbirds begintheir walk and chatter in the mud of the littered and trodden corrals.From beyond among the cottonwoods, came continually the smoothunemphatic sound of the doves answering each other invisibly; andagainst the empty ridge of the river-bluff lay the moon, no longershining, for there was established a new light through the sky. Pedrostood in the pasture close to the bars. The cow-boy slowly closed thedoor behind him, and sitting down on the step, drew his money out andidly handled it, taking no comfort just then from its possession. Thenhe put it back, and after dragging on his boots, crossed to the pasture,and held a last talk with his pony, brushing the cakes of mud from hishide where he had rolled, and passing a lingering hand over his mane. Asthe sounds of the morning came increasingly from tree and plain, Shortyglanced back to see that no one was yet out of the cabin, and then puthis arms round the horse's neck, laying his head against him. For amoment the cow-boy's insignificant face was exalted by the emotion hewould never have let others see. He hugged tight this animal, who wasdearer to his heart than anybody in the world.

  "Good-by, Pedro," he said--"good-by." Pedro looked for bread.

  "No," said his master, sorrowfully, "not any more. Yu' know well I'dgive it yu' if I had it. You and me didn't figure on this, did we,Pedro? Good-by!"

  He hugged his pony again, and got as far as the bars of the pasture, butreturned once more. "Good-by, my little horse, my dear horse, my little,little Pedro," he said, as his tears wet the pony's neck. Then hewiped them with his hand, and got himself back to the bunk house. Afterbreakfast he and his belongings departed to Drybone, and Pedro from hisfield calmly watched this departure; for horses must recognize even lessthan men the black corners that their destinies turn. The pony stoppedfeeding to look at the mail-wagon pass by; but the master sitting in thewagon forebore to turn his head.