CHAPTER VII
A STRANGER
As the weeks passed, each day bringing its period of companionship, thisfriendship and understanding between them became perfect in itssimplicity. Pat learned to know her wishes almost without the reins, andhe showed that he loved to carry her. Also, with these daily canters onthe mesa he developed in bodily strength, and it was not long before hewas in the pink of condition. Yet it was a perfection that was onlynatural for him. The quality of his blood was shown in his nostrils,which were wide and continuously atremble; in his eyes, which werebright and keenly alert; and in his ears, which were fine and vibrant.Stepping through town each morning under Helen's restraining hand, hewould pick up his hoofs with a cleanliness and place them down with agrace that always commanded the attention of admiring eyes. But heseemed unconscious of his quality.
Dressed in her usual dark riding-habit, Helen entered the corral onemorning for her daily canter across the mesa. Already Pat was bridledand saddled. But as she stepped alongside to mount, Miguel appeared inthe stable door with a brief tale of trouble and a warning. It seemedthat he had experienced difficulty in preparing the horse, and betweenpuffs at a cigarette he strongly advised Helen to be careful.
"He's a-very fresh thees mornin'," he concluded, with an ominous shakeof his head.
Helen looked Pat over. He appeared in anything but a cantankerous mood.He was standing quietly, eyes blinking sleepily, ears wriggling lazily,in an attitude of superior indifference toward all the world. So,untroubled by the hostler's tale, she slipped her foot into the stirrup.Instantly the horse nickered queerly and stepped away.
"Steady, Pat!" she gently admonished, and again attempted to mount. But,as before, he stepped away, this time more abruptly. He began to circlearound her, prancing nervously, pausing to paw the ground, prancingagain nervously. She held firm grip on his bridle, however, and sharplyrebuked him. "Pat," she exclaimed, "this is a new trait!" And then,before he could resist again, she caught hold of the saddle-horn, leapedup, hardly touching the stirrup, and gathered the reins quickly to meetfurther rebellion.
But with her in the saddle Pat was quite another horse. He snapped hisears at attention, wheeled to the gate, and cantered briskly out of thecorral.
It was a beautiful morning. The air nipped with a tang of frost, and sherode swiftly through town and up the hill to the mesa in keenexhilaration. Once on the mesa, Pat dashed off ecstatically in thedirection of the mountains. The pace was thrilling. The rush of thecrisp wind, together with the joy of swift motion, sent tingling bloodinto Helen's cheeks, while the horse, racing along at top speed, flungout his hoofs with a vigor that told of the riot of blood within him.Thus they continued, until in the shadow of the mountains--just nowdraped in their most delicate coloring, the pink that accompaniessunbeams streaming through fading haze--she pulled Pat down and gaveherself over to the beauty of the scene. The horse, also appreciative,came to a ready stop and turned his eyes out over the desert inslow-blinking earnestness.
"Pat!" suddenly cried Helen. She pulled his head gently around in thedirection of the mountain trail. "Look off there!"
Above the distant trail hung a thin cloud of dust, and under the cloudof dust, and rolling heavily toward town, creaked a lumber rigging,piled high with wood and drawn by a pair of plodding horses--ploddingdespite the bite and snarl of a whip swung with merciless regularity.The whip was in the hands of a brawny Mexican, who, seated confidentlyon the high load, appeared utterly indifferent to the tremblingendeavors of his scrawny team. He was inhaling the smoke of a cigarette,and with every puff mechanically flaying the horses. The spectaclearoused deep sympathy in the girl.
"Only consider, Pat!" she exclaimed, after a while. "Those poor,miserable horses--half-starved, cruelly beaten, yet of God's ownmaking!" She was silent. "Suppose you had been born to that service,Pat--born to that oppression! You are one of the fortunate!" And shebent forward and stroked him. "One of the fortunate!" she repeated,thoughtfully.
Indeed Pat was just that. But not in the way Helen meant. For such wasthe whim of Fate, and such is the limit of human understanding, she didnot know, and never would know, save by the grace of that Fate, that Pathad been born in just that service, born to just that oppression; thatonly by the kindness of Fate he had been released from that service,that oppression, that he had been guided out of that environment andcast into a more kindly, bigger, and truer environment--her own!
But Pat only blinked stolid indifference at the spectacle. He appearedto care nothing for the misery of other horses, nor to appreciate hertenderness when directed elsewhere than toward himself. After a time, asif to reveal this, he set out of his own volition toward a particularlyinviting bit of flower, dainty yellow in the brown of the desert.Plucking this morsel, he fell to munching it in contentment, andcontinued to munch it till the last vestige disappeared. Then, again ofhis own volition, he broke into a canter. Helen smiled and pulled himdown.
"You're a strange horse, Pat," she declared, and fell to stroking himagain. "And not the least strange thing about you is your history.Sometimes I wonder whether you are actually blooded. Certainly you lookit, and at times assuredly you act it; yet if you are so valuable, whydidn't somebody claim you that time? It is all very mysterious." And sherelapsed into silence, gazing at him thoughtfully.
Aroused by sudden faint gusts of wind, she glanced around and overhead.She saw unmistakable signs of an approaching storm, and swung Pat abouttoward home. As the horse broke into a canter the gusts became morefitful and sharper, while the sun, growing dim and hazy, castever-increasing shadow before her. Presently, as far as the eye couldreach, she saw the landscape spring into active life. Dust-devilswhirled about in quick eddies, stray sheets of paper leaped up,tumbleweed began steady forward movement, rabbit-like, scurrying beforethe winds, the advance occupied by largest growths, the rear brought upwith smallest clumps, the order determined by the area each presented tothe winds. It was all very impressive, but, knowing the uncertaincharacter of the elements, and uncertain whether this foretold violentsand-storm or milder wind-storm, she was gripped with apprehension. Sheurged Pat to his utmost.
And Pat responded, though he really needed but little urging. With eachsudden gust he became increasingly afraid. Holding himself more and morealert to every least movement about him, he was steadily becoming keyedup to a dangerous pitch. Rollicking tumbleweed did not worry him anymore than did the swirling dust-devils. These were things of the desert,each the complexion of the desert. But not so with scraps of paper.Their whiteness offered a startling contrast to the others, and,whisking about frantically, they increased his fears. Then suddenly apaper struck him, whipped madly across his eyes. It was unexpected, andfor an instant blinded him. Gripping the bit in his teeth, he bolted.
His sudden plunge almost unseated Helen. But, recovering, she bracedherself grimly in the stirrups and pulled mightily on the reins. But shecould not hold him. He increased his speed, if anything, and hurtledacross the desert--head level, ears flat, legs far-reaching. She bracedherself again, flinging back head and shoulders, thrusting her feet farforward, and continued to pull. But it counted for nothing. Yet she didnot weaken, and under her vigorous striving, coupled with the jolting ofthe horse, her tam-o'-shanter flew off, and her hair loosened and fell,streaming out whippingly behind. And then suddenly, struck with terrorherself, she cried out in terror.
"Pat!" she burst out. "Pat! Pat!"
But the horse seemed not to hear. Thundering madly forward, he appearedblind as well as fear-stricken, and Helen, suddenly seeing a barb-wirefence ahead, felt herself go faint, for she had never taken a fence, andshe knew that Pat never had. She must get control of herself again. Andthis she did. Stiffening in the stirrups, she gripped a single rein inboth hands and pulled with all her strength. But she could not swervethe horse. On he plunged for the obstruction, evidently not seeing it.She screamed again.
"Pat! Pat! Pat!"
But, as before, the horse did not heed. He dashed to th
e fence. Hehesitated, but only for an instant. Throwing up his head, he rose andtook the fence cleanly. Once on the other side, he resumed his franticracing--pounding along in the mountain trail, his course clearlydefined, hurtling madly straight toward town. With the fence safelycleared, and the way ahead free of vehicles, Helen regained much of hercomposure. Settling calmly to the rhythmic movement, she permitted thehorse free rein. Once she reached back to gather up her hair, but themotion of the horse forbade this. So she fell to watching his splendidenergy, finding herself quite calm and collected again, vaguelywondering how it would end. For the horse seemed tireless.
Wise in his knowledge of first principles, and remembering the terribleslap across his eyes, Pat continued to rush forward. As he ran he kepteyes alert about him, fearing another blow. He knew that the thing waswhite, and he watched for a white something. Instead of a whitesomething, however, there presently loomed up beside him a brownsomething, browner even than the desert, a something racing along besidehim, moving with a speed equal to his own--even greater than his own!But he did not pause to analyze this. Instead, he forced himself togreater efforts, pounding the hardened trail with an energy that hurthis ankles, stretching neck and legs to their utmost limit of fiber--onand on in increased frenzy. But he could not best this object besidehim. Yet that did not discourage him. He continued grimly forward, stungto desperation now by a double purpose, which was to outrun this thingon his right as well as get away from the other possible pursuingobject. Yet the brown thing gained upon him--drew steadily nearer,steadily closer--he saw a hand shoot out. He felt a strong pull on hisbridle, a tearing twist on the bit in his mouth, and found himselfthrown out of his stride. But not even with this would he accept defeat.He reared in a nervous effort to shake off the hand. Finding thisfutile, he dropped back again, and at last came to a trembling, panting,nerve-racked pause.
The thing was a horseman. He hurriedly dismounted, still retaining holdon Pat's bridle, and smiled up at Helen.
"I--I tried to overtake you--to overtake you before you reached thefence," he began to explain, pausing between words for breath. "Thishorse of yours can--can claim--claim anything on record--for speed." Andhe looked Pat over admiringly.
Helen did not speak at once. In the moment needed to regain herself-possession she could only regard him with mute gratitude. She sawthat he was young and well-built, though lean of features, but withfrank, healthy eyes. He was not at all bad-looking. Also she observedthat he was neatly garbed in puttees and knickerbockers, and she quicklyappraised him as the usual type of Easterner come into the valley tospend the winter. Then she suddenly remembered her hair. Woman-like, shehastily gathered it up into a knot at the back of her head before sheanswered this young man smiling up at her.
"Pat never ran like that before," she explained, a bit nervously. "I wasbeginning to wonder what would happen at the railroad crossing. Youchecked him just in time. I--I really owe--"
"Sure he won't charge again?" interrupted the young man, evidentlywishing to avoid any expression of gratitude on her part.
"I--I am quite certain," she replied, and then, after thanking him,slowly gathered up the reins. But she did not ride on, for the reasonthat the other, now absorbed in a cool survey of Pat's outlines,retained his hold on the bridle. Yet neither the survey nor the grip onthe bridle displeased her.
"A splendid horse," he declared, after a moment. "A beautiful animal!"Then, evidently suddenly mindful that he was detaining her, he steppedback.
Helen again prepared to ride on.
"Pat is a beautiful horse," she agreed, still a little nervous. "Andlike all beauty," she added, "he develops strange moods at times." Then,her sense of deep gratitude moving her, she asked, "Were you goingtoward town?"
For reply he swung into the saddle. He wheeled close, and they set out.He appeared a little ill at ease, and Helen took the initiative.
"From the East, I take it?" she inquired. "There are not a fewEasterners down here. Some have taken up permanent residence."
"Yes," he replied, "I'm from the East--New York."
She liked his voice.
"We are here for the winter--mother and myself. Mother isn't strong, andyour delightful climate ought to improve her. I myself came along"--heturned twinkling eyes toward her--"as guide and comforter and--Ifear--all-round nuisance." He was silent. "I like this country," headded, after a moment.
Helen liked him for liking her country, for she had true Western pridefor her birthplace. So she said the natural thing, though withoutdisplay of pride. "Everybody likes it down here."
He looked at her hesitatingly. "You're not from the outside, then?"
"No," she rejoined. "I am a native."
He showed restless curiosity now. "Tell me," he began, engagingly,"about this country. What, for instance, must one do, must one be,to--to be--well, to be accepted as a native!" He said this much as onefeeling his way among a people new to him, as if, conscious of theinformal nature of their meeting, he would ease that informality, yetdid not know precisely how.
Yet Helen found herself quite comfortable in his society now, and,permitting herself great freedom, she spoke almost with levity.
"You have asked me a difficult question," she said. "Offhand I shouldsay you must ride every morning, sleep some part of the early afternoon,and--oh, well, ride the next morning again, I reckon." And she smiledacross at him. "Are you thinking of staying with us?"
He nodded soberly. Then he went on. "What else must one do?" he asked."Is that all?" His eyes were still twinkling.
Helen herself was sober now. "No," she replied, "not quite. One mustthink a little, work a little, do a little good. We are very closetogether down here--very close to one another--and very, very far fromthe rest of the world. So we try to make each day register something ofvalue, not alone for ourselves, but for our neighbors as well." She wassilent. "We are a distinct race of people," she concluded, after amoment.
He turned his head. "I like all that," he declared, simply. "Though I'mafraid I won't do--much as I dislike to admit it. You see, I've neverlearned to live much in the interest of others." He regarded her withsteady eyes.
Helen liked him for that, too. Evidently he had had too much breeding,and, from his remark, knew it. So she took it upon herself at least tooffer him encouragement.
"You will learn," she rejoined, smiling. "Everybody does."
With this, Helen discreetly changed the subject. She entered upon lessintimate matters, and soon, sweeping off into a rhapsody over thecountry--its attraction for Easterners, its grip on Westerners--she waschatting with a freedom typical of the country. For by now she wasinterested, and for some inexplicable reason she found herself drawn tothe smiling stranger.
Also, Pat was interested. But not in the things which appealed to hismistress. Pat was pondering the sullen nature of the horse beside him,and as they rode slowly toward town he stole frequent sidelong glancesat his unfriendly companion. But all he could arrive at was that, whileappearing peaceable enough, this horse was the most self-satisfiedanimal chance had ever thrown his way. After a time he ceased allfriendly advances, such as pressing close beside him and now and againplayfully nipping at him, and took up his own affairs, finding deepcause for satisfaction in the return of his breath after the long race,and in the passing of pain from his strained legs, to say nothing of thecomplete absence of flying papers around him.
They crossed the railroad track and entered the town. Here the young mantook a polite leave of Helen, and Pat, seeing the unfriendly horsecanter away at a brisk gait, himself set out briskly, feeling somehowcalled upon to emulate the step of the other. And thus he continuedthrough town to the river trail, which he followed at an even briskerstride, and thence to the ranch and the corral. Here his mistress tookleave of him--abruptly, it seemed--and made her way straight into thehouse. Directly the Mexican came and removed his saddle and bridle. Withthese things off, he shook himself vigorously, and then took up hiscustomary stand in the corner, and confident
ly awaited the reappearanceof his mistress with sugar and apples--a reward she never had deniedhim.
But he waited this time in vain.