Overland Red: A Romance of the Moonstone Cañon Trail

by Henry Herbert Knibbs

  CHAPTER XXII

  THE YUMA COLT

  The Oro Rancho sent out word that the fiftieth year of its existencewould be celebrated with an old-fashioned Spanish barbecue. Theinvitation was general, including every one within a radius of fiftymiles.

  Added to the natural interest in good things to eat and drink was thatof witnessing the pony races. Each rancher would bring, casually, almostaccidentally, as it were, one pony that represented its owner's idea ofspeed and quality. No set programme offered, which made the races allthe more interesting in that they were genuine.

  The Oro Ranch had long ago established and proudly maintained areputation for breeding the best saddle-and work-stock in SouthernCalifornia. In fact, the ranch survived the competition of theautomobile chiefly because it was the only important stock-raising ranchin the southland.

  Good feeling went even so far as to include the sheep-ranchers of theold Spanish Grant, by special invitation.

  It was the delight and pride of native Californians to ride their bestsaddle-horses on such occasions. True, motor-cars came from the city andfrom the farthest homes, but locally saddle-horses of all sizes andkinds were in evidence. Sleek bays with "Kentucky" written in everyrippling muscle, single-footed in beside heavy mountain ponies, wellboned, broad of knee, strong of flank, and docile; lean mustangs of thevalley, short-coupled buckskins with the endurance of live rawhide;Mexican pintos, restless and gay in carved leather, and silvertrappings; scrawny stolid cayuses that looked half-starved, but thatcould out-eat and out-last many a better-built horse; they all came, andtheir riders were immediately made welcome.

  Under the trees, along the corrals and fences, in and around thestables, stood the ponies, heads tossing, bits jingling, stamping,thoroughly alive to the importance of the festive occasion, and fillingthe eye with an unforgettable picture--a living vignette of the old daysof the range and riata.

  Mrs. Stone, Mrs. Marshall, Louise, Dr. Marshall, and Walter Stone wereamong the earlier arrivals. A half-dozen men sprang to take their horsesas they rode up, but Collie gathered the bridle-reins and led the poniesto the shade of the pepper trees. Then he wandered over to the corrals.His eyes glowed as he watched the sleek ponies dodging, wheeling,circling like a battalion, and led by a smooth-coated, copper-hued mare,young, lithe, straight-limbed, and as beautifully rounded as a Grecianbronze. He moistened his lips as he watched her. He pushed back his hat,felt for tobacco and papers, and rolled a cigarette. This was therenowned "Yuma colt," the outlaw. He wanted her. She was a horse in athousand.

  In some strange way he was conscious that Louise stood beside him,before he turned and raised his sombrero.

  "More beautiful than strong men or beautiful women," said Louise.

  "That's so, Miss Louise. Because they just live natural and act natural.And that copper-colored mare,--she's only a colt yet,--there's a horse aman would be willing to work seven years for like the man in the Bibledid for his wife."

  Louise smiled. "Would you work seven years for her?" she asked.

  "I would, if I had to," he said enthusiastically.

  "Of course, because you really love horses, don't you?"

  "Better than anything else. Of course, there are mean ones. But a realgood horse comes close to making an ordinary man feel ashamed ofhimself. Why, see what a horse will do! He will go anywhere--work allday and all night if he has to--run till he breaks his heart to save afellow's life, and always be a friend. A horse never acts like eighthours was his day's work. He is willing at any time and all thetime--and self-respectin' and clean. I reckon a knowin' horse just plumbloves a man that is good to him."

  Louise, her gray eyes wide and pensive, gazed at the young cowboy. "Howold is the colt?" she asked.

  "They say three years. But she's older than that in brains. She isleading older horses than her."

  "Then if you worked seven years for her, she would be ten years oldbefore you owned her."

  "You caught me there. I didn't think of that."

  "Uncle Walter says she is outlaw. I believe she could be tamed. Boyarwas pretty wild before he was broken to ride."

  "If you want that pony, Miss Louise, she's yours. I guess I could breakher."

  "They won't sell her. No, I was only romancing. Isn't she beautiful! Sheseems to be almost listening to us. What a head and what a quick,intelligent eye! Oh, you wonderful horse!" And laughing, Louise threw akiss to the Yuma colt. "I must go. I came over to see the horses beforethe crowd arrived."

  Collie stood hat in hand watching Louise as she strolled toward theranch-house. He saw her stop and pat Boyar.

  "I kind of wish I was a horse myself," he said whimsically. "Either theblack or the outlaw. She treats them both fine."

  Brand Williams, Bud Light, Parson Long, Billy Dime, and Miguel rode up,talking, joking, laughing.

  "Fall to the kid!" said Miguel, indicating Collie. "I guess I'm scaldedif he ain't nailed to the fence. He's just eating his head off thinkingabout the Yuma horse he dassent ride. No? Eh, Collie?"

  "Hello, Miguel. Nope. I'm taking lessons in tendin' to my ownbusiness--like them." And Collie nodded toward the horses.

  "Ain't he purty?" said Billy Dime. "All fussed up and walkin' round likea new rooster introducin' hisself to a set of strange hens. Oh, pshaw!"

  "And you're making a noise like one of the hens trying to get the noticeof the new rooster, I guess."

  "Well, seem' I got the notice, come on over and I'll show you where theykeep the ice--with things on it," said Billy Dime.

  The Moonstone riders dismounted, slapped the dust from their shirts andtrousers, and ambled over toward the refreshments.

  The little group, happy, talkative, pledged each other and the MoonstoneRanch generously.

  Brand Williams, close to Collie, nudged him. "If you are thinkin' oftakin' a fall out of the outlaw cayuse, don't hit this stuff much," hesaid. And Collie nodded.

  The Moonstoners would one and all back Boyar for a place in the finalsof the pony races, despite the Mexican "outfit" that already mingledwith them making bets on their favorite pinto.

  "Who's ridin' Boyar?" queried Bud Light.

  "In the races? Why, Miguel here," said Williams, slapping the Mexican onthe shoulder. "He don't weigh much, but he's some glue-on-a-sliver whenit comes to racin' tricks. The other Mexicans are after our pesos thistime. Last year we skinned 'em so bad with Boyar takin' first that someof 'em had to wait till dark to go home."

  Collie, listening, felt his heart pump faster. He turned away for aninstant that his fellows might not see the disappointment in his face.He had hoped to ride Boyar to victory.

  "Miss Louise could get more out of Boyar in a race than even Miguelhere," said Billy Dime.

  "I dunno," said Williams. "She give me orders that Miguel was to rideBoyar if they was any racin'."

  So Louise herself had chosen Miguel to ride the pony. Collie grewunreasonably jealous. Once more and again he pledged the MoonstoneRancho in a brimming cup. Then he wandered over to the Mexican ponies,inspecting them casually.

  A Mexican youth, handsome, dark, smiling, offered to bet with him on theresult of the races. Collie declined, but gained his point. He learnedthe Mexican's choice for first place, a lean, wiry buckskin with a goathead and a wicked eye, but with wonderful flanks and withers. Colliemeditated. As a result he placed something like fifty dollars in betswith various ranchers, naming the Mexican horse for first place. Wordwent round that the Moonstone Kid was betting against his own horse.

  Later Brand Williams accosted him. "What you fell up against?" he askedsternly. "What made you jar yourself loose like that?"

  "It's horses with me to-day--not home-sweet-home, Brand. Bet you a pairof specs--and you need 'em--to a bag of peanuts that the Chola cayuseruns first."

  "Your brains is afloat, son. You better cut out the booze."

  Unexpectedly Collie encountered Louise as he went to look after his ownhorses.

  "I hear that you intend to ride the outlaw Yuma. Is it so?"r />
  Collie nodded.

  "I had rather you didn't," said Louise.

  "Why?" asked Collie, tactlessly.

  Louise did not answer, and Collie strode off feeling angry with himselfand more than ever determined to risk breaking his neck to win theoutlaw.

  Boyar, the Moonstone pony, ran second in the finals. The buckskin of theMexicans won first place. Collie collected his winnings indifferently.He grew ashamed of himself, realizing that a foolish and unwarrantablejealousy had led him into a species of disloyalty. He was a Moonstonerider. He had bet against the Moonstone pony, and _her_ pony. He wasabout to ask one of the other boys to see to the horses when a tumult inthe corrals drew his attention. He strolled over to the crowd, finding aplace for himself on the corral bars.

  Mat Gleason, superintendent of the Oro Ranch, loafed, his back against apost. Two men with ropes were following the roan pony round the corral.Presently a riata flipped out and fell. Inch by inch the outlaw wasworked to the snubbing-post. One of the Oro riders seized the pony's earin his teeth and, flinging his legs round her neck, hung, weighing herhead down. There was the flash of teeth, a grunting tug at the cinchas,a cloud of dust, and Jasper Lane, foreman of the Oro outfit, was in thesaddle. The cloud of dust, following the roan pony, grew denser. Abovethe dun cloud a sombrero swung to and fro fanning the outlaw's ears.Jasper Lane had essayed to ride the Yuma colt once before. His brokenshoulder had set nicely, in fact, better than Bull O'Toole's leg whichhad been broken when the outlaw fell on him. Billy Squires, a youngMontana puncher working for the Oro people, still carried his arm in asling. All in all, the assembled company, as Brand Williams mildly putit, "were beginning to take notice of that copper-colored she-son of acyclone."

  Jasper Lane plied spurs and quirt. The visiting cowmen shrilled theirdelight. The pony was broncho from the end of her long, switching tailto the tip of her pink muzzle.

  Following a quick tattoo of hoofs on the baked earth came a flash likethe trout's leap for the fly--a curving plunge--the sound as of abreaking willow branch, and then palpitating silence.

  The dun cloud of dust settled, disclosing the foam-flecked,sweat-blackened colt, oddly beautiful in her poised immobility. Near herlay Jasper Lane, face downward. The pony sniffed at his crumpledsombrero.

  "That horse is plumb gentle," said Collie. "Look at her!"

  "Crazy with the heat," commented Billy Dime, jerking his thumb towardCollie.

  Tall, slim, slow of movement, Collie slipped from the corral bars andsecured the dangling reins. Across the utter silence came the whistle ofa viewless hawk. The cowmen awakened from their momentary apathy. Two ofthem carried Jasper Lane toward the ranch-house. Some one laughed.

  Gleason, the superintendent, gazed at the outlaw pony and fingered hisbelt. "That's the fourth!" he said slowly and distinctly. "She ain'tworth it."

  "The fourth Oro rider," said a voice. "You ain't countin' any Moonstoneriders."

  "Ain't seen any to count," retorted Gleason, and there was a generallaugh.

  Strangely enough, the outlaw pony followed Collie quietly as he led hertoward Gleason, "The boys say there's a bet up that nobody can stick onher two minutes. She's the bet. Is that right?" said Collie.

  "What you goin' to do?" queried Gleason, and some of the Oro boyslaughed.

  "I don't know yet," said Collie. "Maybe I'll take her back to theMoonstone with me."

  Miguel of the Moonstone removed his sombrero and gravely passed it."Flowers for the Collie kid," he said solemnly.

  Collie, grave, alert, a little white beneath his tan, called forWilliams to hold the pony. Then the younger man, talking to hermeanwhile, slipped off the bridle and adjusted a hackamore in its place.He tightened the cinchas. The men had ceased joking. Evidently the kidmeant business. Next he removed his spurs and flung them, with hisquirt, in a corner.

  "Just defending yourself, eh, Yuma girl?" he said. "They cut all thesense out of you with a horse-killin' bit and rip you with the spurs,and expect you to behave."

  "He'll be teachin' her to say her prayers next," observed Bud Light."He's gettin' a spell on her now."

  "He'll need all _his_ for himself," said Pars Long.

  The pony, still nervously resenting the memory of the mouth-crushingspade-bit, and the tearing rowels, flinched and sidled away as Collietried to mount. Her glossy ears were flattened and the rims of her eyesshowed white.

  "Jump!" whispered Williams. "And don't rough her. Mebby you'll win out."

  And even as Collie's hand touched the saddle-horn, Williams sprang backand climbed the corral bars.

  With a leap the Moonstone rider was in the saddle. The pony shook herhead as he reined her round toward the corral gate. The men stared.Gleason swore. Billy Dime began to croon a range ditty about "Pickinglittle Posies on the Golden Shore." The roan's sleek, sweating sidesquivered.

  "Here's where she goes to it," said Williams.

  "Whoop! Let 'er buck!" shouted the crowd.

  Rebellion swelled in the pony's rippling muscles. She waited, fore feetbraced, for the first sting of the quirt, the first rip of the spurs, toturn herself into a hellish thing of plunging destruction.

  Collie, leaning forward, patted her neck. "Come on, sis. Come on, Yumagirl. You're just a little hummingbird. You ain't a real horse."

  With a leap the pony reared. Still there came no sting of spur or quirt.She dropped to her feet. Collie had cleverly consumed a minute of theallotted time.

  "One minute!" called Williams, holding the watch.

  "Why, that ain't ridin'," grumbled an Oro man.

  "See you later," said Williams, and several of his companions looked athim strangely. The foreman's eyes were fixed on the watch.

  Collie had also heard, and he dug his unspurred heels into the pony'ssides. She leaped straight for the corral gate and freedom. With apatter of hoofs, stiff-legged, she jolted toward the plain. The mendropped from the bars and ran toward the gate, all, except Williams, whoturned, blinking in the sun, his watch in his hand.

  A few short jumps, a fish-like swirl sideways, and still Collie held hisseat. He eased the hackamore a little. He was breathing hard. The horsetook up the slack with a vicious plunge, head downward. The boy's facegrew white. He felt something warm trickling down his mouth and chin. Hethrew back his head and gripped with his knees.

  "They're off!" halloed a puncher.

  "Only one of 'em--so far," said Williams. "One minute and thirtyseconds."

  Then, like a bolt of copper light, the pony shot forward at a run.

  On the ranch-house veranda sat Walter Stone conversing with his host,where several girls, bright-faced and gowned in cool white, were talkingand laughing.

  The pony headed straight for the veranda. The laughing group jumped totheir feet. Collie, using both hands, swung the hackamore across theoutlaw's neck and tugged.

  She stopped with a jolt that all but unseated him. Walter Stone rose."It's one of my boys," he said. And he noticed that a little stream ofred was trickling from Collie's mouth and nostrils.

  His head was snapped back and then forward at every plunge. Still hegripped the saddle with rigid knees. The outlaw bucked again, and flungherself viciously sideways, turning completely round. Collie pitcheddrunkenly as the horse came down again and again. His eyes were blurredand his brain grew numb. Faintly he heard Brand Williams cry, "Twominutes! Moonstone wins!" Then came a cheer. His gripping knees relaxed.He reeled and all around him the air grew streaked with slivers ofpiercing fire. He pitched headforemost at the feet of the group on theveranda.

  In a flash Louise Lacharme was beside him, kneeling and supporting hishead. "Water!" she cried, wiping his face with her handkerchief.

  Boot-heels gritted on the parched earth and spurs jingled as the mencame running.

  The pony, with hackamore dangling, raced across the plain toward thehills.

  "This'll do jest as well," said Williams, pouring a mouthful of whiskeybetween Collie's lips. Then the taciturn foreman lifted the youth to hisfeet. C
ollie dragged along, stepping shakily. "Dam' little fool!" saidWilliams affectionately. "You ain't satisfied to get killed where youbelong, but you got to go and splatter yourself all over the front yardin front of the ladies. You with your bloody nose and your face shotplumb full of gravel. If you knowed how you looked when she piled you--"

  "I know how she looked," said Collie. "That's good enough for me. Did Imake it?"

  "The bronc' is yours," said Williams. "Bud and Miguel just rode outafter her."

  Then Williams did an unaccountable thing. He hunted among the crowd tillhe found the man who had said, "Why, that ain't ridin'." He asked theman quietly if he had made such a remark. The other replied that he had.Then Williams promptly knocked him down, with all the wiry strength ofhis six feet of bone and muscle. "Take that home and look at it," heremarked, walking away.

  Through the dusk of the evening the Moonstone boys jingled homeward, thehorses climbing the trail briskly. Two of them worked the outlaw up thehill, each with a rope on her and each exceedingly busy. Collie was toostiff and sore to help them.

  Miguel, hilarious in that he had ridden Boyar to second place, and soupheld the Moonstone honor, sang many strange and wonderful songs andbaited Collie between-whiles. Proud of their companion's conquest of theoutlaw colt, the Moonstone boys made light of it proportionately.

  "Did you see him reclinin' on that Yuma grasshopper," said Bud Light,"and pertendin' he was ridin' a hoss?"

  "And then," added Billy Dime, "he gets so het up and proud that he ridesright over to the ladies, and 'flop' he goes like swattin' a frog with ashingle. He rides about five rods on the cayuse and then five more onhis map. Collie's sure tough. How's your mug, kid?"

  "It never felt so bad as yours looks naturally," responded Collie,puffing at a cigarette with swollen lips. "But I ain't jealous."

  "Now, ain't you?" queried Williams, who had ridden silently beside him."Well, now, I was plumb mistook! I kind of thought you was."