Bred of the Desert: A Horse and a Romance

  CHAPTER XIX

  ANOTHER CHANGE OF MASTERS

  The next morning Pat had a change from the tedium of the desert. Withthe others he struck into a narrow canyon that led out to a beaten trailupon a rolling mesa. The trail wound diagonally across the mesa from thesouth and lost itself in snake-like twistings among hills to the north.Guided to the right into this trail, Pat found himself, a little beforenoon, in a tiny Mexican settlement. It was a squat hamlet, nestlingcomfortably among the hills, made up of a few adobes, a lone well, and ageneral store. The store was at the far end, and toward this his youngmaster directed him.

  As they rode on Pat noticed a queer commotion. Here and there a doorclosed violently, only to open again cautiously as they drew opposite,revealing sometimes two, sometimes three, sometimes five pairs of blackeyes, all ranged timidly one pair over another in the opening. Dogsskulked before their approach, snarling in strange savagery, while wholeflocks of chickens, ruffling in dusty hollows, took frantically to wingat their coming, fleeing before them in unwonted disorder. And finally,as they moved past the well, a half-grown boy, only partly dressed,hurtled out of the side door of one house, raced across a yard to thefront door of another house, and slammed the door shut behind him in apanic.

  It was all very strange, and it made a deep impression upon him. Also itevidently impressed the men, for as they drew rein in front of thestore, with its dust-dry shelves and haunting silence, all asked quickquestions of the proprietor, a little wizened, gimlet-eyed Mexican whowas leaning in the doorway. After glancing over their accoutrements witha nod of understanding, he answered, explaining the reason for theagitation.

  It was all the result of a raid. Three days before a band of maraudershad swept down from the north, ransacked pigstys and chicken-coops andcorrals, and galloped off madly to the south. Yes, they had plunderedthe store also. Indian renegades--yes. He could not say from whatreservation. Yes, they were armed, and in warpaint, and riding goodhorses--all of them. No, he could not say--about thirty in the band,perhaps. He--What? Yes, he had alfalfa and, if they wished, otherthings--beans and rice and canned goods. No, the renegades had notwholly cleaned out the store. Yes, he had matches. No, they had not--What? _Vino?_ To be sure he had _Vino_! He would get--how manybottles?--right away! It was in the cellar, where he kept it cool, andreasonably safe from all marauders--including himself. With this slightwitticism he disappeared into the store.

  The men dismounted. They sat down upon the porch, and one of them, thelarge man, removed his hat, produced a blue bandana, and fell to moppinghis red face. The day was warm, and the settlement, lying low undersurrounding peaks, received none of the outside breezes. Also, it wasinert now, wrapped in the quiet of a frightened people. There was nomovement anywhere save that of ruffling hens in the dust of the trail,and the nearer switching of horses' tails. Once this stillness wasbroken. Among the houses somewhere rose feminine lamentations, wailingsobs, the outburst cutting the quiet with a sharpness that caused themen to turn grave eyes in its direction. And now the keeper of the storereappeared, bearing three bottles of wine in his arms, and numeroussupplies, which the men accepted and paid for. Then all led their horsesback to the well, which was in a little clearing, and there prepared tomake camp, throwing off saddle-bags and accoutrements and building afire while they planned a real meal.

  Pat was enjoying all this. The settlement had a faintly familiar look,and he half expected to see a swarthy Mexican, whip in hand, approachhim with abusive tongue. Also, after weeks of far horizons and unendingsweeps of desert, he found in this nearness of detail pleasurablerelief. It was good to see something upright again without strainingacross miles of desolation, even as it was good to see adobes once more,with windows and doors, and smoke curling up out of chimneys. He felt adeep sense of security, of coziness, which he had been fast losing onthe broad reaches, together with his sight for short distances. For hiseyes had become affected since leaving the white corral beside theriver, although with this he was aware of a peculiar gain. His sense ofhearing now was most acute, and he could hear the least faintsounds--sounds which, before his taking to the open, he could not haveheard. So he was enjoying it all, feeling real comfort, a kind offitness, as if he belonged here and would better remain here for ever.Then, with a generous supply of alfalfa tossed to him, as to the otherhorses, he became convinced that he should remain in this littlesettlement for all time.

  Along in the afternoon the storekeeper, accompanied by a native woman,who was tear-stained and weeping, crossed the settlement. At the momentthe men, lounging about on blankets, were discussing ways and means forStephen. He need not continue with them now, they informed him, unlesshe wanted to. Arrangements could be made here to get him to a railroadin some kind of vehicle, leading Pat behind. But it was up to him. Theyweren't hurrying him away, by any means, yet it sure was up to him toget proper treatment for his arm, which showed slow signs of recovery.

  Stephen was considering this when the two Mexicans approached. Theproprietor of the store started to explain, when the little woman drapedin a black mantilla interrupted him with further sobbing and a pointingfinger--pointing back across the settlement.

  "_Caballeros_," she began, "you coom please wit' me, I--I haf showyou soomt'ing." Then again she burst into weeping.

  Startled, Stephen arose, and the others gained their feet. They set outacross the settlement. They struck between some adobe houses, crossedsome back yards, dodged under clothes-lines, and found themselves in atiny graveyard. The woman brought them to a stop before a fresh mound ofearth. Here she knelt in another outburst of tears, while thegimlet-eyed storekeeper explained.

  It was a little boy twelve years old. The marauders had stolen his pig.He had bitterly denounced them, and one--evidently the leader--had shothim. It was too bad! But it was not all. In one of the houses, the largehouse they had passed in coming here, lay an old man, seventy-eightyears of age, dying from a rifle-shot. Yes, the renegade Indians hadshot him also. What had he done? He had defended his chickens againsttheft. It was too bad! It was all too bad! Could not there something bedone? To live in peace, to live in strict accord with all known laws,such was the aim and such had been the conduct of these people. And thento have a band of cutthroats, murderers, thieves, descend upon theirpeace and quiet in this fashion! It was all too bad!

  The rangers turned away from the scene. All save the woman set outacross the settlement, returning to the camp in silence. Seated oncemore, they fell to discussing this situation. And discussing thetragedy, they reverted to Stephen and his own troubles, light incomparison. They themselves, they acknowledged, had their work all cutout for them. It was what they got their money for. But there was hardlyany use, they pointed out, in Stephen's accompanying them on thismission. Yet he could go if he wanted to. What did he say?

  And Stephen, gazing off thoughtfully toward the tiny mound of freshearth, and seeing the little woman prostrated with grief upon the grave,knew that Helen, herself bitter with loss, and no doubt needing Pat asmuch almost as this woman needed her own lost one, would have him dowhat he wanted to do. And what he wanted to do, felt as if he must do,was to accompany these men, go with them, disabled though he was, andhelp as best he could to bring down retribution upon the renegades. Andhe made known his wishes to the others, finally, expressing them with anote of determination.

  As they bridled and saddled, leaving all equipment not actuallyrequired, the proprietor of the store, his small eyes eager, stood closeand frequently repeated his opinion that murder in even more gruesomeform had been committed to the north. Then they set out, following thedirection taken by the Indians, riding briskly, keyed up to energythrough hope of encounter, although Stephen suffered not a little fromthe jolting of his arm. Dropping down from the hills, they swung outupon the mesa, and thence made into the south along a winding trail.Ordinarily they would have lingered to accept the strained hospitalityof the settlement. But this was duty, duty large and grave, and,conscious of it all, they pressed forward
in silence. The renegades'tracks stood out clearly, and the rangers noted that some of the horseswere shod, others only half shod, while the greater number were withoutshoes at all. This told of the marauders' nondescript collection ofmounts, and also acquainted them with the fact that many of the animalshad been stolen. On through the afternoon they rode, making but littlegain, since the tracks became no fresher. When darkness fell, thoughstill in the open without protection of any kind save that offered by aslight rise of ground, they dismounted and prepared to make camp.

  Throughout the afternoon Pat had felt something of the grim nature ofthis business. This not only because of the severe crowding which he hadendured--though that had told him much--but because of the unwontedsilence upon the men. So he had held himself keenly to the stride,rather liking its vigor after long days of walking, finding himselfespecially fit to meet it after his recent change of food. And althoughthe sun had been swelteringly hot, yet the desert had been swept withcounteracting breezes, and, with night finally descending, he had feltmore than ever his fine mettle, and now, even though his master waspainfully dismounting, he felt fit to run his legs off at the leastsuggestion.

  This fitness remained with him. When his young master turned him looseat the end of a generous tether, he stepped eagerly away from thefirelight and out into the light of a rising moon, not to graze, for hefelt no desire to graze, having eaten his fill and more at noon, but togive vent to his high spirits in unusual rolling in the sands. This hequickly proceeded to do, kicking and thrashing about, and holding to itlong after the men about the fire had ceased to come and go in preparingtheir meal, long after they had seated themselves in the cheerful glow,smoking and talking as was their habit.

  The Professor noticed it. He looked at the man with the beard pointedly."That Pat hoss he's workin' up another job o' cleanin' for you," heobserved. "Seemed in an awful hurry, too," he added, then dropped hiseyes innocently.

  The other was punching new holes in his belt with an unwieldyjack-knife. He suddenly gave off twisting the point of the knife againstthe leather and lifted it menacingly in the direction of his tormentor.

  "Look-a-here, Professor," he retorted, "I ain't feelin' any too pertright now, and I'll take a hop out o' you if you don't shet up!"

  The Professor looked grieved. "What's the matter of you?" he inquired.

  "Never you mind!" The knife went back to the leather again. "Let thathorse roll if he wants to! It ain't any skin off your hands!"

  Which was the key-note of all assembled save the Professor. All excepthim appeared tense and nervous and in no way inclined to joke. For atime after the lean man's rebuke they engaged in casual talk, then oneafter another they drew off their boots and rolled up in their blankets.All but Stephen. His arm was throbbing with unusual pain. It was stillin splints, and still bandaged in a sling around his neck, and since italways hurt him to change positions, he remained seated beside the fire,wrapped in sober thought. Outside, in the green-white light of the moon,he heard the horses one by one sink to rest. Around him the desert,gripped in death-stillness, pressed close, while overhead thestar-sprinkled dome of heaven, unclouded, arched in all its wontedglittering majesty. A long time he sat there, keenly alive to thesethings, yet thinking strange thoughts, thoughts of his loneliness, andwhat might have been, and where he might have been, had he never met thegirl. These were new thoughts, and he presently arose to rid himself ofthem and turned in, and soon was in a doze.

  Some time later, he did not know how much later, he was aroused by asound as of distant thunder. But as he lifted his head the sounddisappeared. Yet when he dropped his head back again he heard it. Hepressed his left ear close to earth. The sound grew louder and seemed tocome nearer. Again he lifted his head. As before, he could hear nothingsave the snoring of the large man and the dream-twitching of theProfessor. He gazed about him. The camp was still. He peered outside inthe moonlight. The horses were all down--at rest. At length he droppedback once more, closed his eyes sleepily, and soon dozed a second time.

  But again he was aroused. He whipped up his head. The sound wasthundering in his ears. He heard trampling hoofs--manyhoofs--immediately outside. He leaped to his feet. He sawhorsemen--Indians--the renegades--crowding past, riding frantically tothe north. He called sharply to the others, who were already waking andleaping to their feet. He turned to the horses. They were all there,standing now, alert and tense. Wheeling, he stared after the Indians.They were speeding away like the wind, close huddled, fleeing in apanic. He watched them, dazed, saw them ascend a rise, become avacillating speck in the moonlight, and drop from view in a hollowbeyond the rise. He turned to the men. All stood in mute helplessness,only half comprehending. He opened his mouth to speak, but as he did sothere came a sudden interruption.

  It was a bugle-call, rollicking across the desert, crashing into thedeath-like hush which had settled upon the camp. He turned his eyestoward the sound--to the south. Over a giant sand-dune, riding grouped,with one or two in the lead, swept a company of cavalrymen. Down theslope they galloped, moonlight playing freely upon them, bringing outevery detail--the glint of arms, the movement of hat-brims, the lift andfall of elbows--pounding straight for the camp. Another blast of thebugle, crisp and metallic, and they swerved; they drew near, nearerstill, came close on the right, and swept past in a whirlwind of sounds,thundering hoofs, cursing men, slamming carbines, creaking saddles,snorting horses. So they swept on into the north, pushing, crowding,jostling, throwing back flying gravel, odors of sweat, swirlingdust-clouds. They mounted rapidly over the rise, and became, as thepursued, vacillating specks, and then disappeared in the hollow beyond.

  Stephen recovered himself. He swept his eyes again over the horses. Hesaw a change among them. Three were calm, but not the other two. Both ofthem were weaving faintly, and, even as he sprang to them, one sankslowly to the ground. Wondering, dazed, gripped in apprehension, he bentover it. The horse was a stranger, and it was gasping its last breath.Dismayed, he turned to the other. This horse also was a strange horse,and it was white with foam and panting, also run to death. Astonished,cold with apprehension, he looked for Pat. But neither Pat nor thesorrel was to be seen. Then the truth overwhelmed him. The renegades,seeing fresh horses here, had made a swift change. Pat was gone!

  For one tense moment he stood spellbound. Then he sprang into action. Hedressed as best he could, called to the others to bridle and saddle ahorse, and leaped into the saddle. His whole body rebelled at themovement. But he set his jaw grimly, and, clutching at his bandaged arm,yet keeping his grip on the reins, he spurred frantically after thecavalry. As he dashed away he shouted back his purpose.

  But the men, standing with wide eyes turned after him, heard only theend:

  "I'll get him in spite of hell!"