Bred of the Desert: A Horse and a Romance
Page 5
CHAPTER V
LONELINESS
Pat's mistress was gone. He realized it from his continued disappointedwatching for her at the fence; he realized it from the utter absence outof life of the sweets he had learned to love so well; and he realized itmost of all from the change which rapidly came over the Mexican hostler.Though he did not know it, Miguel had been instructed, and in nomistakable language, to take good care of him, and, among other things,to keep him healthily supplied with sweets. But Miguel was notinterested in colts, much less in anything that meant additional laborfor him, and so Pat was made to suffer. Yet in this, as in all the otherthings, lay a wonderful good. He was made to know that he was not whollya pampered thing--was made to feel the other side of life, the side ofbitterness and disappointment, the side at times of actual want. Andthis continued denial of wants, of needs, occasionally, hardened him, ashis earlier experiences had hardened him, toughened him for thestruggles to come, brought to him that which is good for allyouth--realization that life is not a mere span of days with sweets andcomforts for the asking, but a time of struggle, a battle for supremacy,and it is only through the battle that one grows fit and ever more fitfor the good of the All.
Not the least of his trials was great loneliness. One day was so verylike another. Regularly each morning, after seeking out his favoritecorner in the corral, he would see the sun step from the mountain-tops,ascend through a cool morning, pour down scorching midday rays, descendthrough a tense afternoon, and drop from view in the chill of evening.Always he would watch this thing, sometimes standing, other timesreclining, but ever conscious of the dread monotony of it all. Nothinghappened, nobody came to caress him, no one paid him the leastattention. A forlorn colt, a lonely colt, doubly so for lack of amother, he spent long days in moody contemplation of an existence thatirked.
One day, however, came something of interest into the monotony of hislife. Evidently tiring of attending each horse in turn in the stalls,Miguel built a general box for feed in one corner of the inclosure, andthen, by dint of loud swearing and the free use of a pitchfork,instructed the colt to feed from it with the others. Not that Patrequired instruction as to the feeding itself--he was too much alive toneed driving in that respect. But he did show nervous timidity atfeeding with the other horses, and so Miguel cheerfully went to theurging with fork and tongue. But only the one time. Soon the colt tookto burying his nose in the box along with the others, and would wrigglehis tail with a vigor that seemed to tell of his gratitude at beingaccepted as part of the great establishment and its devices. And thenanother thing. With this change in his method of feeding, he soon cameto reveal steadily increasing courage and independence. Oftentimes hewould be the first to reach the box, and, what was more to the point,would hold his position against the other horses--hold it against roughshouldering from the family horse, savage nipping from the saddler, evenvigorous cursing and flaying from the swarthy hostler.
With the approach of winter he revealed his courage and temerityfurther. Of his own volition one night he abruptly changed hissleeping-quarters. Since the memorable occasion when the mare had kickedhim out of her stall he had sought out a stall by himself with thecoming of night, and there spent the hours in fear-broken sleep. Butthis night, and every night thereafter, saw him boldly approaching themare and crowding in beside her in her stall, where, in the contact withher warm body and in her silent presence, he found much that wassoothing and comfortable. Which, too, marked the beginning of a newfriendship, one that steadily ripened with the passing winter and, bythe time spring again descended into the valley, was an attachment closealmost as that between mother and offspring. When in his playfulmoments, rare indeed now for one of his age, he would inadvertentlyplunge into her, or stumble over a water-pail, she would nicker gravedisapproval, or else chide him more generously by licking his neck andwithers a long time in genuine affection.
Thus the colt changed in both spirit and physique. And the more hechanged, and the larger he grew, the greater source of trouble he becameto the Mexican. Before, he had feared the man. Now he felt only a kindof hatred, and this lent courage to make of himself a frequent source ofannoyance.
With the return of warm weather he resumed his old place in his favoritecorner. He did this through both habit and a desire to warm himself inthe sun's rays. And it was all innocent enough--this thing. Yet,innocent though it was, more than once, in passing, the Mexican struckhim with whatever happened to be in his hands. At such times, whimperingwith pain, he would dart to an opposite corner, there to stand intrembling fear, until, his courage returning, and his hatred for the manupholding him, he would return and defiantly resume his day-dreaming inthe corner. This happened for perhaps a dozen times before he openlyrebelled. And when he did rebel--when the Mexican struck him sharplyacross the nose--he whipped around his head like lightning and, stillonly half awake, sank his teeth savagely into the man's shoulder.Followed a string of oaths and sudden appearance of a club, which mighthave proved serious but for the Judge's timely call for the horse andphaeton. Whereupon the Mexican slunk off into the stable. But as he wentPat saw the gleam in his black eyes, and knew that some day punishmentmost dire and cruel would descend upon him.
He passed through his second summer, that period of trial and sicknessfor many infants, in perfect health. In perfect health also he passedthrough the autumn and on into his second winter. Growing ever strongerwith the passing seasons, he came to reveal still further his wonderfulvitality, and to reveal it in many ways. Often he would take theinitiative against the Mexican, kicking at him without due cause,refusing always to get out of his way, once nipping him sharply as hehurried past under pressing orders from the house. Also, having grown toa size equal to the brown saddler, he began to reveal his antipathy forthis animal. Not only would he shoulder him away from the feed-box, buthe would kick and snap at him, and once he tipped over the water-pailfor no other reason, seemingly, than to deprive the saddler of water.The result of all this was that, with the passing seasons, both theMexican and the saddler showed increasing respect for him, and theformer went to every precaution to avoid a serious encounter.
But it was bound to come in spite of all his efforts to avoid it.Fighting spring flies in the stable one morning, Pat was aroused by afamiliar sound in the corral. It was the sound which usually accompaniedfeeding, and, whirling, he plunged eagerly toward the door. As he did sothe Mexican, about to enter the stable, appeared on the threshold. Patsaw him too late. He crashed headlong into the Mexican and sent himreeling out into the inclosure. From that moment it was to the death.
The Mexican painfully gained his feet and, swearing a mighty vengeance,caught up a heavy shovel. Pat saw what was coming and, dashing out intothe corral, sought protection behind the feed-box. But the infuriatedman hunted him out, dealing upon his quivering back blow after blow,until, stung beyond all caution, Pat sprang for the object of hissuffering. But the man leaped aside, delivering as he did so anothervicious blow, this time across Pat's nose--most tender of places. Dazed,trembling, raging with the spirit of battle, he surveyed the man amoment, and then, with an unnatural outcry, half nicker, half roar, hehurtled himself upon his enemy, striking him down. But he did not stophere. When the man attempted to rise he struck him down again, and athird time. Then, seeing the man lying motionless, he uttered anotheroutcry, different from the other, a whimpering, baby outcry, and,whirling away from the scene, hurried across the corral and into thestable, where he sought out the family horse and, still whimperingbabyishly, stood very close beside her, seeking her sympathy andencouragement.
This closed the feud for all time. Miguel was not seriously hurt. But hehad learned something, even as Pat had learned something, and thereafterthere existed tacit understanding between them.
The seasons passed, and the third year came, and with it the beginningof the end of Pat's loneliness. One morning late in June he was arousedby the voice of the Mexican, who, with brushes and currycomb in hand,had come to clean him. Pat was i
n need of just this cleaning. Thoughwallowing but little, leaving that form of exercise to the older horses,he nevertheless was gritty with sand from swirling spring winds. So hestood very still under the hostler's vigorous attention. But Miguel'sambition did not stop here. He turned to the other horses and curriedand brushed them also, working till the perspiration streamed from him.But this was not the end. He set to work in the stable, and scraped andcleaned to the last corner, and rubbed and scoured to the smallestharness buckle. It was all very unusual, and Pat, standing attentivethroughout it all, revealed marked interest and something of surprise.Soon he was to know the reason.
Along toward noon, as he was feeding at the box, he saw a very dignifiedyoung woman leave the house, cross the _patio_ in his direction,and come to a stop immediately outside the fence. Though the feed-boxalways held his interest above all other things, and though it wasstrongly attracting him now, he nevertheless could not resist theattention with which this young woman regarded him. He returned her gazesteadily, wondering who she was and what she meant to do. He soon foundout, for presently she set out along the fence and came to a stopdirectly in front of him. She did more. She held out a hand and soundeda single word softly.
"Pat!" she called.
And now something took place inside the colt. With the word, far back inhis brain, in the remotest of cells, there came an effort for freedom.It was a grim struggle, no doubt, for the thing must fight its wayagainst almost all other thoughts and scenes and persons in his memory.But at length this vague memory gained momentum and dominance. And nowhe understood. The young woman outside the fence was his little mistressof early days! Lifting his head, he gave off a shrill and protractednicker of greeting.
Helen dropped her hand. "Bless you!" she cried, and sped along thefence, opened the gate, and ran inside. "You do know me, don't you?" sheburst out, and, hurrying to his side, hugged him convulsively. "And I'mso glad, Pat!" she went on. "It--it has been a long three years!" Shestepped back and looked him over admiringly. "And you have grown so!Dear, oh, dear! Three years!" Again she stepped close and hugged him. "Iam so proud of you, Pat!"
All this love-talk, this caressing and hugging, was as the lifting of aveil to Pat. Within him all that had lain dormant for threeyears--affection, desires, life itself--now pressed eagerly to thesurface. And though his mistress did not look the same to him--though hefound himself gazing down now instead of up to engage her eyes--yet, asif she had been gone but a day, he suddenly nuzzled her hand for loafsugar and quartered apples. Then as suddenly he regretted this. For shehad left him--was running across the corral. Frantically he rushed afterher and, with a shrill cry of protest, saw her enter the house. But soonshe appeared again, and when close, and he saw the familiar sweets inher hand, he nickered again, this time in sheer delight. And if he haddoubted his good fortune before, now, with his mouth dripping lusciousjuices, he knew positively that he had come into his own again.
Sometime during the feast Helen noticed a scar across his nose. "Why,Pat!" she exclaimed. "How ever did you get that?"
But Pat did not say. Indeed, it is doubtful whether, in this happiest ofmoments, he would have descended to such commonplaces. But it was nocommonplace to Helen, and she promptly sought out the Mexican. YetMiguel declared that he knew nothing of the scar. He had been verywatchful of the colt, he lied, cheerfully, and the scar was as much amystery to him as it was to her. Whereupon Helen decided that Pat hadbrought it about through some prank, and, after returning to him andindulging in further caresses and love-talk, reluctantly took leave ofhim, returning to the house, there to begin unpacking her numeroustrunks.
Thus their friendship was renewed. Pat was older by three years, as thegirl was older by three years. But each was much older than that inpoint of development. Where before had been baby affection in him andgirl affection in her, now was a thing of greater worth and more lastingquality--affection of a grown horse and a grown woman. In the days whichfollowed this was brought out in many ways. The colt did not once friskand play about the inclosure, a trait she remembered best; yet she didnot wish it. She preferred him as he was, finding in his mature conductsomething that enhanced his beauty; and rare beauty it was, as shefrequently noted in running proud eyes over his lines, and in noting itcame more and more to feel not alone great pride for him, but a surelove as well--not the love woman gives to man, of course, but the loveshe can give, and does give, without stint, to all dumb animals.