CHAPTER XXII
QUIESCENCE
After long jogging behind the ranch wagon Pat found himself back in astable. He found himself attended once more by the round-faced andsmiling young man who had looked after him before. This friend put salveupon his wounds, and after that, for days and days, provided him withfood and water, sometimes talking to him hopefully, sometimes talkingwith quiet distress in his voice, sometimes attending to his wantswithout talking at all. It was all a dread monotony. The days becameshorter; the nights became longer; a chill crept into the stable. Allday long he stamped away the hours in restless discontent, longing for achange of some sort, longing for a sight of his young master, wanting toget out into the open, there to race his legs off in thrilling action.
Once this wish was granted. The weather was quite cold, and hisround-faced friend came to him that morning showing every sign of haste.Hurriedly he bridled and saddled Pat, rushed him out of the stable,flung up across his back, and put spur to him with such vigor that hewas forced into a gait the like of which he had not taken since hisbreathless speeding to the accompaniment of shots. Out across the deserthe raced, breasting a cold wind, on and on till he found himself in asmall railroad town. Here he was pulled up before a little cottage, andsaw his friend mount the front steps and pull a tiny knob in the frameof the door. A moment of waiting and he saw a portly man appear, heardsharp conversation, saw his friend run down the steps. Then again hefelt the prick of spurs, and found himself once more cantering acrossthe desert. But not toward home. Late in the afternoon, wearied andsuffering hunger pangs, he found himself in another small town andbefore another tiny cottage, with his friend pulling at a knob asbefore, and entering into crisp conversation with the person whoanswered, a lean man this time, who nodded his head and withdrew. Afterthis he once more breasted the cold winds, worse now because of thenight, and continued to breast them until he found himself back in thestable.
Thus he had his wish. But it was really more than he had wanted, andthereafter he was content to remain in peace and rest in the stable. Buthe was not always confined to the stable now. His friend began to permithim privileges, and one of these was the spending of long hours outdoorsin a private corral. Here, basking in the sunlight, which was not freefrom winter chill, he would spend whole days dreaming andwondering--wondering for the most part about his master, the master heliked, and finding himself ever more distressed because of his continuedabsence. Sometimes, in the corral, he would see men walk slowly in andout of the ranch-house, or come to a halt outside his fence and standfor long minutes gazing at him, a look in their eyes, he thought, thoughhe was not quite sure, of pity mingled with sorrow. But though these mencame to him frequently, yet they rarely ever spoke to him; even as hisround-faced friend, though still regularly attentive, rarely ever spoketo him now. It was all mysterious. He knew that something of a verygrave nature was in the air, but what it was and why his real masternever came to him as did the other men, he did not know, thoughsometimes he would be obsessed with troubled thoughts that all was notwell with the young man.
Then one day, with spring descending upon the desert, he saw somethingthat quickened his interest in life. He saw a door open in the house,saw a very thin young man appear on the threshold, saw him slowlydescend the steps and walk toward him. It was his master. Yet was it? Hepressed close to the fence, gazed at the man long and earnestly. Then heknew. It was indeed the same young man. He was much thinner now thanwhen last he had come to him, and he seemed to lack his old-time energy,but nevertheless it was he. In a moment he knew it for certain, for theman held out a long, thin, white hand and called his name.
This was the beginning of the end. Thereafter two and three times a daythe young man came to him, sometimes in the corral, sometimes in thestable, but always with each successive visit, it seemed to Pat,revealing increasing buoyancy and strength. And finally there came aday, bright and warm, when his master came to him, as it proved, toremain with him. The young man was dressed for riding, and he wassurrounded by all the men Pat had ever seen about the place, and not afew whose faces were new to him. They led him out of the stable into theopen, a dozen hands bridled and saddled him, then all crowded close injoyful conversation.
"Well, sir," began the round-faced young man, slapping Pat resoundinglyupon the rump, "you're off again! And believe me I'm one that's rightsorry to see you go. I don't care nothin' about this pardner o'yours--he don't count nohow, anyway. He's been sick 'most to death,shore, but he's all right now as far as _that_ goes. His arm is allhealed up, and he's fit in every other way--_some_ ways--yet he'stakin' himself off from as nice people as ever dragged saddles through abunk-house at midnight. But that ain't it. He's takin' old black hossaway with him, and it don't jest set. I shore do hate to see you go."
Which seemed to express the opinions of the others. And somehow, evenwhen his master was in the saddle and everything pointing to a finaldeparture, Pat found himself hating to go. But duty was duty, and afterhis master had gathered up the reins and all had cordially shaken handshe broke into a canter, and, followed by a chorus of mighty yells,headed into the interminable desert, within him the feeling of one uponthe threshold of new life, or of old and delightful life returned.Before he realized either the lapse of time or the distance traveled, hefound himself cantering into the little railroad town he had visited sohurriedly in the winter. And there followed another experience new toPat--a journey by train back to his home.
Bred of the Desert: A Horse and a Romance Page 22
