I Conquered

by Harold Titus

  CHAPTER IX

  Pursuit

  Summer drew toward its close and the work became more exacting. Jed wassure that more of his colts ran the range without brands, and the tworode constantly, searching every gulch and break for the strays. Oneday they went far to the east, and at noon encountered three of BobThorpe's men building fence.

  "It's his new drift fence," Jed explained. "He's goin' to have a lot ofwinter pasture, to be sure he is. It'll help us, too. When we cometakin' these here willow tails off this ridge they'll find somethin'new. It's so close up to the foot of the rise that they can't jump it."

  "Thorpe must be rich," remarked Young VB as they went on along thefence.

  "Rich don't say it! He's rollin' in money, an' he sure knows how toenjoy it. Every winter, when things gets squared away, he takes hiswife an' goes to California. I s'pose he'll be takin' his girl,too--now that she's quit goin' to school."

  The boy wanted to ask questions about this daughter of Bob Thorpe's,but a diffidence, for which there was no accounting, held him back. Hewas curious as he had been whenever he heard of or thought of her, andas he had been when he had once seen her. But somehow he did not careto admit that curiosity even to Jed, and when he tried to analyze thereason for his reticence there was no doing so.

  Now came more knowledge of the waste places with weeks of riding; moreknowledge of the barren area in his own heart with self-study; morepertinent, that which the Captain typified.

  And all the time that struggle continued, which at times seemed onlythe hopeless floundering of a man in quicksands--life on the river bankso close; death below, certain, mocking his efforts.

  "He has faith in himself because he is physically equipped," VBmurmured one day as he saw the Captain standing against the sky on adistant ridge. "His belief in himself is justified. But I--what do Iknow about my own capabilities?"

  Yet a latent quality in the boy was the sort that offsets doubts, elsewhy this emulation of the stallion, why this feeling that was almostlove, constant, always growing, never hesitating?

  Like most men, Young VB was unprepared for the big moments of his life.Could we only foresee them, is the plaint of men! Could we only knowand go out to meet them in spirit proper! And yet that very state ofpreparation might take from the all-encompassing grandeur of thosepassages a potent element.

  After all, this scheme of things has its compensations, and inabilityto foretell the future may be one of the greatest.

  With fear in his heart and black discouragement and lack of faith,Young VB went out to meet what proved to be his first great moment.

  Jed had gone to the railroad, bound for the Springs, to untangle a messof red tape that had snarled about his filing on some land. VB was leftalone, and for days the young fellow saw no one. In the naturalloneliness that followed, the assault came upon him with manifoldforce. He could not sleep, could not eat, could not remain in one placeor keep his mind on a fixed purpose.

  He walked about, talking to himself in the silence, tryingineffectually to do the necessary work of the ranch, trying to stiflethe loud voice that begged him to forego all the struggle and let hisimpulses carry him where they would.

  But were not his impulses carrying him? Was it not his first impulse togo on with the fight? He did not think of that.

  At times it was hard indeed to differentiate between the real and theunreal. The voice that wheedled was such a twister of words and terms,and its ally, the thirst, raged with such virility that he was forcedto do something with his body. To remain an unresisting victim to thetorture would only invite disaster.

  Throwing a saddle on his "top" horse, Young VB set out, leaving thehalf-prepared dinner as it was, unable even to wait for food. He rodeswiftly up the gulch to where it forked, and then to the right, lettingthe stanch animal under him cover the ground at a swinging trot. Inthree hours he was miles from the ranch, far back in the hills, andclimbing to the top of a stretching ridge. He breathed through hismouth, to let the air on his burning throat, and twisted his bridlereins until the stout leather was misshapen, utterly lost in theconflict which went on within, heedless of all else.

  Suddenly he realized that his horse had come a long distance withoutrest. He dismounted in a thicket of cedars, sharply repentant that hisown torment had led him to forget the beast that served him, and eventhe distraction of that concern brought relief.

  With the cinch eased the horse stood and breathed gratefully. But hewas not fagged, he was still alert and eager. His ears were set stifflyforward, and he gazed upwind, sniffing softly now and then.

  "What you see, cayuse?" VB asked, trying to make out the cause of thatattentiveness.

  Again the sniffing, and of a sudden the horse froze, stopped hisbreathing, and VB, a hand on the beast's hip, felt a quick tremor runthrough him.

  Then the man saw that which had caused the animal to tremble, and thesight set him tingling just as it always did.

  A hundred yards up the ridge, sharp against the sky, commanding,watchful, stood the Captain. He had not seen or scented VB, for helooked in other directions, moving his head from point to point,scanning every nook of the country below him. Something mannish therewas about that beast, a comprehensive, planned vigilance. Down belowhim in a sag fed the mares.

  As VB looked at that watcher he felt the lust to possess crawling up,surging through him, blotting out that other desire, that torment,making his breath congest, making his mouth dry. He tightened his cinchand mounted.

  The Captain did not see VB until the rider came clear of the cover inwhich he had halted.

  For the instant only, as the rushing horseman broke through the cedars,a scudding, fluttering object hurtling across the low brush, the blackstallion stood as though his feet were imbedded in the rock under him,his head full toward the rushing rider, nose up, astonishment in thevery angle of his stiff ears. Then those ears went flat; the sleek bodypivoted on its dainty hind feet, and a scream of angered warning camefrom the long throat.

  Even as the Captain's front hoofs clawed the ground in his first leap,the mares were running. They drew close together, frightened by theabruptness of the alarm, scuttling away from the punishment they knewwould be coming from their master if they wasted seconds.

  VB was possessed again. His reason told him that a single horseman hadno chance in the world with that bunch, that he could not hope to keepup even long enough to scatter the band, that he would only run hismount down, good horse that he was. But the lust urged him on, tuggingat his vitals, and he gave vent to his excitement in sharp screams ofjoy, the joy of the hunt--and the joy of honest attempt at supremeaccomplishment.

  The dust trailed behind the bunch, enveloping the rushing Captain in adun mantle, finally to be whipped away by the breeze. They tore downstiff sagebrush in their flight; and so great was the strain that theirbellies skimmed incredibly close to the ground.

  VB's horse caught the spirit of the chase, as do all animals when theyfollow their kind. He extended himself to the last fiber, and withastonishment--a glad astonishment that brought a whoop of triumph--theboy saw that the mares were not drawing away--that he was crawling upon them!

  But the Captain! Ah, he was running away from the man who gave chase,was putting more distance between them at every thundering leap, wasdrawing closer to his slower mares, lip stretched back over hisgleaming teeth, jaws working as he strained to reach them and make thatband go still faster.

  VB's quirt commenced to sing its goading tune, slashing first on oneside, then on the other. He hung far forward over the fork of hissaddle, leaning low to offer the least possible resistance to the wind.Now and then he called aloud to his pony, swearing with glad savagery.

  The Captain reached his bunch, closing in on them with a burst of speedthat seemed beyond the abilities of blood and bone. The man behindthought he heard those long teeth pop as they caught the rump of ascurrying mare; surely he heard the stallion's scream of rage as, afternipping mare after mare, running to and fro behind them, he fo
und thatthey had opened their hearts to the last limit and could go no faster.They _could not_ do it--and the rider behind was crawling up, jump forjump, gaining a yard, losing a foot, gaining again, steadily,relentlessly.

  VB did not know that Kelly, the horse buyer, and one of Dick Worth'sriders had given the outlaws a long, tedious race that morning as theywere coming in from the dry country to the west for water and betterfeed. He did not know that the band had been filling their bellies withgreat quantities of water, crowding them still more with grasses, untilthere was no room left for the working of lungs, for the stretching oftaxed muscles.

  He saw only the one fact: that he was gaining on the Captain. He didnot stop even to consider the obvious ending of such a chase. He mightscatter the band, but what of it? When the last hope had been cast theCaptain would strike out alone, would turn all the energy that now wentto driving his mares to making good his own escape, and then therewould be no more race--just a widening of a breach that could not beclosed.

  But VB did not think of anything beyond the next stride. His mind waspossessed with the idea that every leap of the laboring beast under himmust bring him closer to the huddle of frantic horses, nearer to theflying hindquarters of the jet leader who tried so hard to make hisauthority override circumstance.

  The slashing of the quirt became more vicious. VB strained fartherforward. His lips were parted, his eyes strained open with excitement,and the tears started by that rushing streamed over his cheeks.

  "E-e-eyah!" he shrieked.

  The buckskin mare found a hole. Her hind legs went into the air,sticking toward the sky above that thundering clump of tossing, rushingbodies with its fringes of fluttering hair. Her legs seemed to poise amoment; then they went down slowly. The Captain leaped her prostratebody, to sink his teeth into the flank of a sorrel that lagged half alength behind the others.

  VB passed so near the buckskin as she gained her faltering feet that hecould have slashed her with his quirt. Yet he had no eyes for her, hadno heed for any of the mares. He was playing for the bigger game.

  The sorrel quit, unable to respond to that punishment, fearful of hermaster. She angled off to the right, to be rid of him, and disappearedthrough a clump of trees. The stallion shrilled his anger and disgust,slowing his gallop a half-dozen jumps as though he wanted to follow andpunish her cruelly.

  Then he glanced backward, threw his nose in the air and, stretching tohis own tremendous speed again, stormed on.

  The huddle of mares became less compact, seemed to lose also its unityof purpose. The Captain had more to do. His trips from flank to flankof the band were longer. By the time he had spurred the gray at theleft back into the lead the brown three-year-old on the other wing wasa loiterer by a length. Then, when she was sent ahead, the gray waslagging again. And another by her side, perhaps.

  "E-e-eyah!"

  VB's throat was raw from the screaming, but he did not know it--no morethan he knew that his hat was gone or that his nerves still yearned fortheir stinging stimulant.

  The cry, coming again and again, worried the Captain. Each time itcrackled from VB's lips the black nose was flung high and an eye whichglared orange hate even at that distance rolled back to watch thisyelling pursuer.

  VB saw, and began to shout words at the animal, to cry his challenge,to curse.

  The galloping gray quit, without an attempt to rally. The Captainbrought to bear a terrific punishment, dropping back to within thirtyyards of the man who pressed him, but it was useless, for she wasspent. The water and luscious grass in her dammed up the reservoirs ofher vitality, would not let her respond. When the stallion gave her upand tore on after the others she dropped even her floundering gallop,and as VB raced past her he heard the breath sob down her throat.

  On and across they tore, dropping into sags of the ridge, climbingsharp little pitches, swinging now to the right and bending back to theleft again in a sweeping curve. The uneven galloping of the horse underhim, the gulps for breath the pony made as the footing fooled him andhe jolted sharply, the shiftings and duckings and quick turnings asthey stormed through groups of trees, the rattle of brush as it smotehis boot toes and stirrups were all unheeded by VB.

  Once his shoulder met a tough cedar bough, and the blow wrenched itfrom its trunk. His face was whipped to rawness by smaller branches,and one knee throbbed dully where it had skimmed a bowlder as they shotpast. But he saw only that floundering band ahead.

  The buckskin was gone, the sorrel, the gray; next, two mares quittogether, and the Captain, seeing them go, did not slacken his speed,did not even scream his rage. Only four remained, and he gambled onthem as against the slight chance of recovering any of those others;for that screaming rider was closing in on him all the time.

  Oh, water and grass! How necessary both are to life, but how dangerousat a time like this! Pop-pop! The teeth closed on those running hips.The vainness of it all! They could go no faster. They had tried firstfrom instinct, then from willingness; now they tried from fear as theirlord tortured them. But though the will was there, the ability couldnot come, not even when the Captain pushed through them, and in adesperate maneuver set the pace, showing them his fine heels and cleanlimbs, demonstrating how easy it was to go on and on and draw away fromthat rider who tugged at his muffler that wind might find and cool histhroat, burning now from unalloyed hope.

  And so VB, the newest horse runner on the range, scattered theCaptain's band, accomplishing all that the best of the men who rodethat country had ever been able to boast.

  The stallion tried once more to rally his mates into escape, but theirhearts were bursting, their lungs clogged. They could do no more.

  Then away he went alone, head high and turning from side to side, maneflaunting, tail trailing gracefully behind him, beauty in every regalline and curve, majestic superiority in each stride he took.

  He raced off into the country that stretched eastward, the loser forthe time of one set of conquests but free--free to go on and makehimself more high, more powerful, more a thing to be emulated even byman.

  He ran lightly, evenly, without effort, and the gap between him and therider behind, narrowed by such tremendous exertion from that latheredpony, widened with scarce an added effort.

  But VB went on, driving his reeking pony mercilessly. He had ceasedyelling now. His face was set; blood that had been whipped into it byhis frenzy, by the rushing of the wind, by the smiting of branches,left the skin. It became white, and from that visage two eyes glowedabnormally brilliant. For the Captain was taking off the ridge where itbent and struck into the north, was plunging down over the pitch intothe shadows. He was going his best, in long, keen strides that wouldcarry him to the bottom with a momentum so tremendous that on the flathe would be running himself into a blur. And VB's face was colorless,with eyes brilliant, because he knew that along the bottom of the dropran the new drift fence that Bob Thorpe's men were erecting.

  He began to plead with his pony, to talk to him childishly, to beg himto keep his feet, to coax him to last, to pray him to follow--and incontrol of himself, and on time! As they dropped off the ridge, downthrough the sliding shale and scattered brush, VB's right hand,upraised to keep his balance, held the loop of his rope, and the other,flung behind the cantle of his saddle, grasped the coils of the sturdyhemp.

  Oh, Captain, your speed was against you! You took off that ridge withthose ground-covering leaps, limbs flying, heart set on reaching thebottom with a swirl of speed that would dishearten your follower. Butyou did not reckon on an obstruction, on the thing your eyesencountered when halfway down that height and going with all the powerwithin you. Those fresh posts and the wires strung between them! Afence! Men had invaded your territory with their barriers, and at sucha time! You knew, too, that there was no jumping it; they had set theposts so far up on the pitch that no take-off had been left.

  So the Captain tried to stop. With haunches far under him, front feetstraight before, belly scrubbing the brush, he battled to overcome theawful
impetus his body had received up above. Sprawling, sliding, feetshooting in any direction as the footing gave, he struggled to stop hisprogress. It was no simple matter; indeed, checking that flight was farmore difficult than the attaining of that speed. In the midst ofrolling, bounding stones, sliding dust, breaking brush, the greatstallion gradually slowed his going. Slow and more slowly he went ontoward the bottom; almost stopped, but still was unable to bring hismuscles into play for a dash to right or left.

  On behind, pony floundering in the wake of the Captain, rode VB, righthand high, snapping back and forth to hold him erect, rope danglingfrom it crazily. He breathed through his mouth, and at every exhalationhis vocal chords vibrated.

  Perhaps even then the Captain might have won. The odds of the game wereall against him, it is true, for breaking down the pitch as he did, itrequired longer for him to reach the bottom in possession of hisequilibrium than it did the slower-moving horse that bore VB. It wouldhave been a tight squeeze for the horse, but the man was in a poorposition to cast his loop with any degree of accuracy.

  But a flat sliding stone discounted all other factors. Nothing elsemattered. The Captain came to a stop, eyes wild, ears back. With aslow-starting, mighty lunge, he made as though to turn and race downalong the line of fence before VB could get within striking distance.The great muscles contracted, his ragged hoofs sought a hold. The hindlegs straightened, that mighty force bore on his footing--and the stoneslipped! The Captain was outlucked.

  His hind legs shot backward, staggering him. His hindquarters slippeddownhill, throwing his head up to confront VB. His nostrils flared,that orange hate in his eyes met the glow from his pursuer's, who camedown upon him--only half a dozen lengths away!