CHAPTER XII
ADVENTURE
It was late afternoon when Helen came down from her room. She hadregained her calm. The Judge had gone about his affairs, her aunt wasdeep in her siesta, the Mexican woman was bustling about in the kitchen.Refusing this kindly soul's offer of food, she walked listlessly intothe library and sank into a huge chair. Spring was well advanced, yetthere was an open fire. Elbows upon the arms of her chair, hands claspedunder her chin, she turned unseeing eyes upon the flickering flames.Motionless, barely breathing, she was a picture of hopeless grief.
Yet her thoughts were active. One after another the swift-moving eventsof the night before came to her--a night of delightful happenings andtorturing surprises. She recalled that the crowd had been unusually gay,but that Stephen had been unusually quiet and absorbed. She rememberedthe games, and the story-telling, and the toasting of marshmallows inthe grate. But over against these simple pleasures there had beenStephen, entering into the gaiety only because he must, now forcing asmile, now drawing back within himself, until a chorus of laughter wouldagain force him to smile. Yet she had understood, and she had excusedhim. She had thought him resigned and content to be merely one of thecrowd. And then had come that opportunity which evidently he had sought.It had come as a surprise. But with it had come also a sudden desire tobe alone with him, and to impress upon him her convictions. So they hadgone out into the moonlight, to the corral fence, and to Pat, where shehad endeavored to make everything clear. And then their return, and thedeparture of her guests, and his lingering on the porch, and hisdecision to go away, to leave her for ever. He hadn't put it in justthat way! But that was what he was doing--that was what he had done. Hehad gone from her for ever.
The thought hurt. It hurt because she knew what part she had taken init. She knew that she herself had sent him away. And when he had lefther she knew, as she knew now, that in her heart she did not want it.For she liked him--liked his society. She liked his care-free manner,his whimsical outlook upon her country, his many natural talents--hisplaying, and the naivete of his singing, while he often admitted thathis voice hurt him, and so must hurt others. No, she had not wanted himto go away. And somehow it had never occurred to her that he would gofor ever. But he was gone, and she could not resign herself. Yet therewas no calling him back. She had made a decision, had forced him tounderstand certain things. So she must accept it. But it hurt. It wasslowly dawning upon her that she would never forget him.
Then another thought came to her. Since he was going, and since she hadsent him away, it occurred to her that she ought to help him. It seemedto be her duty. Yet she could not determine how. He was going forth toprove himself. He would go where men only could go, and she was but awoman. And she wanted him to prove himself--she knew that--knew it morewith every moment that passed. She believed he had it in him. Yet shemight help in some way. She wanted to be of some use to him in hisundertaking. What could she do?
Suddenly, as she sat there, seemingly powerless, there came a shrillnicker whipping across from the corral--the voice of Pat.
Like a flash she had it! Stephen would go into the cattle country--shebelieved that. And in the cattle country he would need a horse, a goodhorse, such a horse as Pat. She would present the horse to Stephen! Shewould send Pat with him because she herself could not go with him. Thisshe could do. Thus she would help Stephen to find himself, as herancestors had found themselves. She would help him to become what shewanted him to become--a man--a _man_! Yes, she would give Pat toStephen. She would send the horse as she had sent the man--forth intothe world of deeds--deeds denied her sex.
She rose hurriedly and ascended to her room. At her desk she drew paperand pen toward her.
My dear Stephen [she began her letter],--I am sending Pat to you through Miguel. I wanted to help you in some way. I cannot help you myself directly, but in Pat I feel you will have a valuable aid. Take him--take him with my dearest and best wishes for your success. Pat may actually show you the way--may actually point the way out to you. Who knows? He understands who you are, I know, and I am sure he knows what you have been, and what you still are, to me.
Helen.
For a moment she sat deep in thought. Then suddenly awaking to thelateness of the hour, she arose and, going to the corral, called to thehostler. Miguel appeared, and she handed him the note, giving himcareful instructions the while in regard to the horse. The Mexicansmiled and entered the stable in quest of saddle and bridle, the whileshe turned to Pat in his corner and explained what she was about to do.
"Pat dear," she began, nestling her cheek against his head, "you aregoing away. You are going with Stephen. Do you remember Stephen?"Emotion began to grip her. "You have served me well, Pat, andfaithfully. I hope you will prove as true to your new master. I--Iwanted to help him. But I--I couldn't--couldn't--" She could not go on.Gazing up into his eyes she seemed to see him waver--knew that it wasbecause of her blinding tears--and abruptly left him and returned to thehouse.
In her room she stood weeping at the window overlooking the corral. Shesaw the Mexican bridle and saddle her pride, saw him carefully tuck awayher note, and saw him mount Pat with a great show of importance, asthough elated with his commission. Then she saw him ride Pat out of thecorral, across into the river trail, and turn toward town. Seeing herhorse go from her, perhaps for all time, she turned from the window andflung herself across her bed, where she gave way to her grief. Her Patwas gone! Her Pat--heart of her life--was gone!
Miguel was indeed pleased with his commission. Never before had he beenastride this so-wonderful horse. As he rode along, testing the ease ofPat's gait, noting with what readiness he responded to the reins, hefell to wishing that it were not so near dusk, since then he mightbecome the object of envious eyes in town. But he could not control thehour of day, even though he could control the horse's movements. So hecantered along until he reached the town proper, when he slowed Pat intoa walk. Lights were being switched on along the avenue, and in theirglare he enjoyed to the full whatever admiring glances were turned hisway from the sidewalks. But as he neared the hotel where Stephen wasstopping he urged Pat into a canter first, then into a gallop, pullingup before the side entrance with a quick reining that brought both thehorse and himself to a stop with a magnificent flourish. It was good--ashe admitted to himself. Then he slipped to earth. And now hismagnificence left him, for he never before had entered this so-beautifulhostelry. Girting in his belt, however, he strode up the steps, falteredon the threshold, and was directed to the clerk. This magnate handed theletter to a bell-boy.
Stephen was seated in his room when he read Helen's note. When he raisedhis eyes he stared unseeingly at the light across the street, deep inthought.
He knew what this had cost Helen. Riding with her almost every day formonths, he could not but understand the depth of her attachment for thehorse. Pat for years had been the one big factor in her life. And nowshe was giving Pat to him, to help him prove himself. It was a greatthing to do, so great that he must accept it, and already, at this proofof her interest, he somehow felt assured of success. Also he saw a wayopen. He would go down into the cattle country, make a connection withsome cattle interests, and, with Pat as guide and friend and capableservant, work out his destiny. Exactly what that would be he did notknow. But he did know that he was going after it.
He turned to the boy still standing in the doorway. "Tell the man thatI'll be down directly," he said. Then he made his way into his mother'ssuite of rooms.
The frail little woman showed surprise at his decision. But she saidnothing. She nodded quiet acquiescence and went on with her instructionsto her maid, who was laying clothing away in preparation for the returnEast in the morning. Evidently she knew her boy. Whereupon Stephen,after explaining further, though no more fully than before, left her,descending to the office.
Miguel was standing awkwardly near the doorway, and with Stephen'sappearance t
ouched his hat and led the way outside. Pat was facing threeboys, the center of their interest, but when Stephen approached him, andtalked to him, he turned and responded with a soft whinny, seeming tounderstand. Miguel remained at a respectful distance, awaiting orders.Then telling him to wait for a note to be taken to Miss Richards,Stephen re-entered the hotel.
The boys swirled off in play. Miguel stood alone with the horse. Therewere but few persons on the streets, since it was early evening andpeople were at supper. Miguel's wandering eyes at length rested upon theswing-doors of a saloon opposite--rested there a long time. Finally,unable longer to resist their spell, he glanced at Pat's bridle, notedthat the reins were securely tied, and then yielded to the attention ofthe saloon. In a moment the swing-doors closed upon him.
They had barely ceased swinging when out of a doorway just down thestreet stole the figure of a man. He was young, smooth of face, garbedin blue shirt and overalls, with eyes well concealed under a blacksombrero low-drawn. He moved out of the shadow cautiously, with manyfurtive glances about him. Then he swiftly crossed the street, hurriedalong the sidewalk to Pat, and reached the horse's head and bridle.Untying the reins from the post, he leaped into the saddle. Then heswung Pat around, put light spurs to him, and urged him rapidly acrossthe avenue. Beyond the avenue toward the north lay Stygian darkness. Inthese black depths he disappeared.
At this moment the clerk in the hotel was aroused by the unusualspectacle of one of his guests--young Wainwright--leaping down thestairs. He looked up with a surprised question. But Stephen ran pasthim, across the office, without heed. He gained the door, rushed downthe steps, and shouted. The boys ceased playing, a passer-by came to astop, out of the saloon opposite stepped Miguel. Miguel hastened across,drawing his hand over his mouth as he ran. Stephen opened upon himbreathlessly.
"He's gone!" he burst out. "I saw it from my window. A young man in blueshirt and overalls. The horse has been stolen!"
Miguel threw up both hands in despair. "_Valgame Dios!_" he cried."I am lose my job!" He looked about him blankly.
Sick at heart, not knowing what to do, Stephen himself bolted back intothe hotel. He entered the telephone booth and rang up the Judge'soffice. It was late, but he took a chance. The Judge answered the call.His voice was weary with the strain of a long day.
"Who in thunder wants me at this hour?" he drawled, not unpleasantly."Can't you let a man--"
Stephen interrupted with an apology. Then he told the Judge of the loss.The Judge's voice changed instantly.
"Fine business!" he snapped. "But I reckon I know who to look for.There's only one man--one gang--in the Territory that would do that inthat way. It's a job for the range police." Then his voice softened."Don't worry, Stephen!" he added. "You just sit tight. I'll take it upwith the authorities."
Stephen left the booth and entered the writing-room. Here he added a sadpostscript to his note to Helen. Then he went outside, despatched Miguelwith the letter, returned to his room and sat down, disconsolate andangry.
To have Pat sent to him with this noble generosity, and then to losehim! Surely fate was more than unkind. The horse, given into hiskeeping, had been wrested from him at once. Yes, he was all that Helenhad intimated that he was--a man incapable of trust, a man such as shecould never permit herself--and he recalled her words now with ranklingbitterness--to care for in the way he wanted her to care for him.Knowing that Pat was gone from him, and gone in such ignoble fashion, heknew that he never could face the horse's mistress again. This wasbitterest of all! For a time he gave way to despair.
Presently he awoke to a sense of stern responsibility. The horse hadbeen delivered. Miguel had safely delivered him. It was all up to himthen, Stephen, and to nobody else. He alone was responsible, and it washis duty to get Pat back. Out of his self-doubting this realization camewith a sense of comfort. His course now lay clearly before him. He wouldget the horse back! He _must_ get him back! There was nothing elseleft for him. For if he ever expected to return to Helen, and this washis life's hope, he must return to her with the horse. He could returnto her in no other way.
He saw the difficulties. This was a large country, and he knew but verylittle of its activities. He recalled what the Judge had intimated--thatthe character of the thieves was such as to offer no encouragement ofsuccessful pursuit to any but men schooled to the country and the habitsof the thieves. Yet against this and in his favor was the widespreadreputation of Pat, and that certainly ought to be of some help in hispursuit. But, difficult or easy--take a month or a year--take fiveyears--he would get Pat and return him to his mistress! The Judge hadspoken of range police. Why couldn't he enlist with these men, enlist inany capacity, and accompany them till such time as he should learn thecountry well enough to venture out alone if necessary in his quest? Atany rate, he would have a talk with the Judge--would see him early inthe morning. He arose to his feet. The thing was settled in his mind.Also for the first time in his life his view had an object. He would goforth into life, get that which it withheld from him, bring it back andplace it before the woman of his choice.
And now, so great is the power, so prompt the reward, of energy rightlyapplied, he found himself whistling as he began to toss wearing-apparelinto a traveling-bag.
Bred of the Desert: A Horse and a Romance Page 12
