CHAPTER XIV
The Lure of the Saddle
One of the needs that Hartigan very soon became aware of in hisfar-flung pastoral work was that of a good saddle horse. An income ofthree hundred dollars a year will not maintain very much in the way of astable, but a horse had to be got, and the idea of looking for one wasexceedingly pleasant to him. It needed but the sight and smell of thehorse leathers to rouse the old passion bred and fostered in Downey'sstable. He loved the saddle, he knew horses as few men did, and had hebeen ninety pounds lighter he would have made a famous jockey.
For many days he was able to put his mind on nothing else. He eagerlytook every chance to visit likely stock; he was never so happy as whenhe was astride of some mettlesome animal, interpreting its moods as onlythe born horseman can do, and drawing on the reserves of strength whichare closed to all but the expert rider. He responded in every fibre ofhis great physique to the zest of this renewed experience of a loved andlost stable life, and yet the very passion of his enjoyment appalled himat times for it seemed to be in some sense a disloyalty to the new lifehe had taken up and to draw him away from it.
In those days there were motley bands of immigrants crossing the plainsfrom the East, making for the Black Hills as an island of promise in thegreat open sea, and one of these wanderers from far-off Illinois arrivedone evening with the usual outfit of prairie schooner, oxen, milch cow,saddle horses, dogs, and children. Calamity had overtaken the caravan.The mother had died; the father was disgusted with the country andeverything in it; and his one idea was to sell his outfit and get thechildren back East, back to school and granny. At the auction, thecattle brought good prices, but no one wanted the horses. They weregaunt and weary, saddle-and spur-galled; one young and the other pastmiddle life. It was the young horse that caught Hartigan's eye. It wasrising three, a well-built skeleton, but with a readiness to look alert,a full mane and tail, and a glint of gold on the coat that had a meaningand a message for the horse-wise. The auctioneer was struggling to raisea bid.
"Will any one bid on this fine young colt? All he needs is oats, and afew other things."
A laugh went up, which was just what the auctioneer wanted, formerriment is essential to a successful sale.
"Here now, boys, who will start him at five dollars? And him worth ahundred."
It was too much for Hartigan. He raised his finger to the auctioneer.
"There, now, there's a preacher that knows a horse," he prattled away,but no second offer came, and the colt was knocked down to Hartigan forfive greasy dollars.
"A good clean-down is worth a bushel of oats to a horse," is old stablewisdom, "and a deal cheaper," as Hartigan added. Within the hour BlazingStar, as the new owner named him from the star blaze in his forehead,was rubbed and curry-combed as probably he never had been in his lifebefore. He was fed with a little grain and an abundance of prairie hay,his wounds were painted with iodine and his mane was plaited. He washandled from forelock to fetlock and rubbed and massaged like aprizefighter who is out for mighty stakes.
"They are just like humans," Hartigan remarked to the "perchers" atShives's blacksmith shop. "All they need is kindness and common sense."
Before a month had gone, Hartigan was offered fifty dollars for thecolt; and this in a land where twenty-five dollars is the usual pricefor a saddle horse. In truth, no one would have recognized this fine,spirited young horse as the sorry jade that landed in the town a shortfour weeks before. But Hartigan, who had a trainer's eye, said to Shivesand the "perchers":
"Wait for two months and then you will see something."
And they did. They saw the young Achilles riding down the street on thewonderful chosen steed of all the herd. There were perfectly balancedlife and power in every move of both, the eagerness to up and do, thegrace of consummate animalism. They had seen many a fine man on a noblehorse, but never before had they beheld a picture so satisfying to botheye and heart as that of the Preacher on his five-dollar steed.
Five miles from Cedar Mountain is Fort Ryan and to the south of it aplain, where every year in the first week of July the Indians gather intheir tepees and the whites in tents and prairie schooners for a sort offair, in which are many kinds of sin on the largest scale. Herds ofhorses are there, and racing is a favourite sport. It was here on theFourth of July that an Indian on a rough-looking buckskin pony had won,over all the field that year, a purse containing five hundred dollars.The whites, who had their racers set at naught, were ready for almostany scheme that promised them revenge, and they made an ill-favoured andsulky lot as they sat on the shady side of the movable saloon thatlingered still on the racing plain. Their eyes were pinched at thecorners with gazing at the sunlight, and their ragged beards were likeautumn grass. A horseman appeared in the distance, and ambled towardthem. This was a common enough sight, but the easy pace was pleasing tothe eye, and when he drew near these men of the saddle found ahorseman's pleasure in the clean-limbed steed so easily ridden.
"Guess it's the new preacher," said one with a laugh. "He's come downfrom Cedar Mountain to save us from Hell, as if Hell could be any worsethan this."
Hartigan drew up to inquire the direction to a certain cabin and when helearned the way he rode on.
"Looks to me like he would have made a cowboy, if they had ketched himyoung."
"Do you see that horse? Ain't there some blood there?"
"Yes, there is," said Long Bill, "and it strikes me it is worthfollowing up. Let's have another look."
The group sauntered to where the Preacher was making a call and one ofthem began:
"Say, mister, that's quite a horse you've got there; want to sell him?"
"No."
"Looks like a speeder."
"Yes, there's nothing in Cedar Mountain to touch him."
"Say, mister," said cattleman Kyle, "if he's a winner, here's yourchance to roll up a wad."
Hartigan stared and waited. The cult of the horse is very ancient, butits ways are ever modern.
"You say he's a great speeder; will you try him against Kyle's horse?"said Long Bill.
Jim looked a rebuff and shook his head.
"Oh, just a friendly race," the man went on; "Kyle thinks he has thebest American horse in town." And as various members of the party lookedmore critically at Blazing Star and felt his limbs they became moreinsistent.
When Jim had joined the Church, horse-racing was one of the deadly sinshe had abjured. So while he refused to enter a race, he was easilypersuaded to ride his horse against Kyle's for a friendly mile. Whetherbegun as a race or not, it was in deadly earnest after the first fiftyyards and it proved just what they needed to know: that Kyle's horse,which had been a good second best with the Indian, was a poor second inthe race with Blazing Star. With this essential information, Kyle askedif he could hire Hartigan's horse for a brush with the Indian.
Hartigan went through a most painful struggle with his conscience. Butclearly "this was not a regular race." It was "just a sort of speed testwith an Indian pony like the one he had had with Kyle." He was not goingto ride in it. He would only rent his horse for wages. "Sure, every onehires out his horse when he has a good one." So Blazing Star was hiredout to Kyle, and a new though unimportant race was arranged, for astake, otherwise the Indian would not have taken the trouble to ride.The Red-men's black eyes looked keenly on as he measured the new horse.Then the unexpected happened. Blazing Star was not accustomed to the newjockey, the gentle ways that had fostered his speed were lacking. Therider's idea was whip and spur and go from the start. The horse got"rattled" and the Indian pony won. The defeat stirred Hartigan to a ragesuch as he had not experienced in months. The unrest of his conscienceover the affair, coupled with his contempt and fury at the badhorsemanship of the rider, set loose from his tongue a lurid torrentblended of Links, Scripture, and Black Hills.
"Here, you jelly-backed cowpuncher, let me show you how to ride. Willyou ride again?" he shouted to the Indian, as the latter put the roll ofbills in his tobacco pouch.
The Indian shook his head.
"I will put that up twenty-five dollars to nothing," and Hartigan heldup the twenty-five dollars he had received as hire for his horse. Againthe Indian shook his head. "I'll give you that if you'll ride." Jim heldup a ten, "and double it if you win."
With a gesture, the Indian consented, received the bill, and put it withthe rest. They rode to the starting post, were unceremoniously started,and Hartigan showed how much a man could do for a horse. In spite of hisrider's great weight that splendid beast responded to every word, andwhen on the home run Hartigan used the quirt, Blazing Star seemed toknow it was merely a signal, not an insulting urge, and let himself go.The Indian pony, too, was doing his utmost, but Blazing Star swept pasthis opponent and led at the finish by more than a length; the race waswon; and Hartigan wakened up as a man out of a dream to face the awfulfact that he, a minister of the gospel, had not only ridden in a horserace, but had gambled on the same.
The Preacher of Cedar Mountain: A Tale of the Open Country Page 15
