by Harold Titus
CHAPTER X
Capture
It does not take a horse that is bearing a rider downhill anappreciable length of time to take one more stride. Gravity does thework. The horse jerks his fore legs from under his body and then shootsthem out again for fresh hold to keep his downward progress withinreason.
VB's pony went down the drop with much more rapidity than safety, inshort, jerky, stiff-legged plunges, hindquarters scrooged far under hisbody; alert, watching his footing, grunting in his care not to take toogreat risks.
When the Captain, fooled by false footing, was whirled about to facethe down-coming rider, the pony's fore feet had just drawn themselvesout of the way to let his body farther down the slope. And when thesturdy legs again shot out to strike rock and keep horse and VBupright, the black stallion had started to wheel. But in the splitsecond which intervened between the beginning and ending of thatfloundering jump, eyes met eyes. The eyes of a man met the eyes of abeast, and heart read heart. The eyes of a man who had frittered hislife, who had flaunted his heritage of strength in body and bone untilhe had become a weakling, a cringing, whining center of abnormalnervous activities, fearing himself, met the eyes of a beast that knewhimself to be a paragon of his kind, the final achievement of hisstrain, a commanding force that had never been curbed, that had defiedalike his own kingdom and the race from which had sprung the being nowconfronting him.
The eyes of him who had been a weakling met the eyes of that which hadbeen superstrong and without a waver; they held, they penetrated, and,suddenly born from the purposeless life of Danny Lenox, flamed YoungVB's soul. All the emulation, all the lust this beast before him hadroused in his heart, became amalgamated with that part of him whichsubtly strove to drag him away from debauchery, and upon those blendingelements of strength was set the lasting stamp of his individuality.
His purpose flamed in his eyes and its light was so great that thehorse read, and, reading, set his ears forward and screamed--not somuch a scream of anger as of wondering terror. For the beast caught thesignificance of that splendid determination which made for conquestwith a power equal to his own strength, which was making for escape.The telepathic communication from the one to the other was the sameforce that sends a jungle king into antics at the pleasure of histrainer--the language that transcends species!
The pony's hoofs dug shale once more, and the upraised right armwhipped about the tousled head. The rope swished angrily as it slashedthe air. Once it circled--and the Captain jumped, lunging off to theleft. Twice it cut its disk--and the stallion's quivering flanksgathered for a second leap. It writhed; it stretched out waveringly,seekingly, feelingly as though uncertain, almost blindly, butswiftly--so swiftly! The loop flattened and spread and undulated,drawing the long stretch of hemp after it teasingly. It stopped, asthough suddenly tired. It poised with uncanny deliberation. Then, asgently as a maiden's sigh, it settled--settled--drooped--and theCaptain's nose, reaching out for liberty, to be free of this man whoseeyes flamed a determination so stanch that it went down to his beastheart, thrust itself plumb through the middle.
The hoarse rip of the hard-twist coming through its hondu, the whistleof breath from the man's tight teeth, the rattle of stone on stone;then the squeal from the stallion as for the first time in his life abond tightened on him!
He shook his head angrily, and even as he leaped a third time backtoward his free hills one forefoot was raised to strike from him thesnaring strand. The pawing hoof did not reach its mark, did not findthe thin, lithe thing which throttled down on him, for the Captain'smomentum carried him to the end of the rope.
They put the strain on the hemp, both going away, those horses. VBstruggled with his mount to have him ready for the shock, but before hecould bring about a full stop that shock arrived. It seemed as thoughit would tear the horn from the saddle. The pony, sturdy little beast,was yanked to his knees and swung half about, and VB recovered himselfonly by grabbing the saddle fork.
The black stallion again faced the man--faced him because his heels hadbeen cracked in a semicircle through the air by the force of thatburning thing about his neck. For ten long seconds the Captain stoodbraced against the rope, moving his head slowly from side to side forall the world as a refractory, gentled colt might do, with as muchdisplay of fight as would be shown by a mule that dissented at the ideaof being led across a ditch. He just stood there stupidly, twisting hishead.
The thick mane rumpled up under the tightening rope, some of thedrenched hair of the neck was pulled out as the hemp rolled upward,drawing closer, shutting down and down. The depression in the fleshgrew deeper. One hind foot lost its hold in the shale and shot out; theCaptain lifted it and moved it forward again slowly, cautiously, forfresh, steady straining.
Then it came. The windpipe closed; he coughed, and like the sudden furyof a mountain thunderstorm the Captain turned loose his giant forces.The thing had jerked him back in his rush toward freedom. It held himwhere he did not want to be held! And it choked!
Forefeet clawing, rearing to his hind legs with a quivering strength oflift that dragged the bracing pony through the shale, the great, blackhorse-regal screamed and coughed his rage and beat upon that vibratingstrand which made him prisoner--that web--that fragile thing!
Again and again he struck it, but it only danced--only danced, andtightened its clutch on his throat! He reached for it with his longteeth and clamped them on it, but the thing would not yield. He settledto all fours again, threw his head from side to side, and strove tomove backward with a frenzied floundering that sent the pebblesrattling yards about him.
It was a noble effort. Into the attempt to drag away from thatanchorage the Captain put his very spirit. He struggled and choked andstrained. And all the time that man sat there on his horse, tense,watching silently, moving his free hand slightly to and fro, as thoughbeating time to music. His lips were parted, his face still blanched.And in his eyes glowed that purpose which knows no defeat!
System departed. Like a hot blast wickedness came. Teeth bared, earsflat, with sounds like an angered child's ranting coming from histhroat, the stallion charged his man enemy just as he had charged thepowerful Percheron who had come to challenge him a month ago. Thesaddle horse, seeing it, avoided the brunt of the first blind rush,taking the Captain's shoulder on his rump as the black hurtler wentpast, striking thin air.
VB felt the Captain's breath, saw from close up the lurid flame in hiseyes, sensed the power of those teeth, the sledge-hammer force behindthose untrimmed hoofs. And he came alive, the blood shooting closeunder his skin again and making the gray face bronze, then deeper thanbronze. His eyes puffed under the stress of that emotion, and he felt aprimitive desire to growl as the Captain whirled and came again. It wasman to beast, and somewhere down yonder through the generations a deadracial memory came back and Young VB, girded for the conflict, ached tohave his forest foe in reach, to have the fight run high, to have hischance to dare and do in fleshly struggle!
It was not long in coming. The near hoof, striking down to crush hischest, fell short, and the hair of VB's chap leg went ripping from theleather, while along his thigh crept a dull, spreading ache.
He did not notice that, though, for he was raised in his stirrups,right hand lifted high, its fingers clutched about the lash of hisloaded quirt. He felt the breath again, hot, wet, and a splatter offroth from the flapping lips struck his cheek. Then the right hand camedown with a snap and a jerk, with all the vigor of muscular force thatVB could summon.
His eye had been good, his judgment true. The Captain's teeth did notsink into his flesh, for the quirt-butt, a leaden slug, crunched on thehorse's skull, right between the ears!
The fury of motion departed, like the going of a cyclone. The Captaindropped to all fours and hung his head, staggered a half-dozen shortpaces drunkenly, and then sighed deeply--
He reached the end of the rope. It came tight again, and with thetightening--the battle! Thrice more he charged the man with all thehate his wild heart cou
ld summon, but not once did those dreadful teethfind that which they sought. Again the front hoof met its mark andracked the flesh of VB's leg, but that did not matter. He could standthat punishment, for he was winning! He was countering the stallion'sefforts, which made the contest an even break; and his rope was on andhe had dealt one telling blow with his quirt. Two points! And the boyscreamed his triumph as the missile he swung landed again, on the softnose this time, the nose so wrinkled with hateful desire--and theCaptain swung off to one side from the stinging force of it.
Not in delight at punishment was that cry. The blow on the skull, theslug at the nose stabbed VB to his tenderest depths. But he knew itmust be so, and his shout was a shout of conquest--of the first manasserting primal authority, of the last man coming into his own!
The dust they stirred rose stiflingly. Down there under the hill nomoving breath of air would carry it off. The pony under VB grunted andstrained, but was jerked sharply about by the rushes of the heavierstallion, heavier and built of things above mere flesh and bone andtendon. The Captain's belly dripped water; VB's face was glossy withit, his hair plastered down to brow and temple.
The three became tired. In desperation the Captain dropped the fight,turned to run, plunged out as though to part the strands. VB's heartleaped as his faith in the rope faltered--but it held, and thestallion, pulled about, lost his footing, floundered, stumbled, wentdown, and rolled into the shale, feet threshing the air.
It was an opening--the widest VB had had, wider than he could havehoped for, and he rushed in, stabbing his horse shamelessly with spursand babbling witlessly as he strove to make slack in the rope. Theslack came. Then the quick jerk of the wrist--the trick he hadperfected back there in Jed's corral--and a potential half-hitchtraveled down the rope.
The Captain floundered to get his feet under him, and the loop in therope dissolved. Again the wrist twitch, again the shooting loop and--
"Scotched!" screamed Young VB. "Scotched! You're my property!"
Scotched! The rope had found its hold about the off hind ankle of thesoiled stallion, and there it clung in a tight, relentless grasp. Therope from neck to limb was so short that it kept the foot clear of theground, crippling the Captain, and as the great horse floundered to hisfeet VB had him powerless. The stallion stood dazed, looking down atthe thing which would not let him kick, which would not let him step.
Then he sprang forward, and when the rope came tight he was upended, ashoulder plowing the shale.
"It's no use!" the man cried, his voice crackling in excitement. "I'vegot you right--right--_right!_"
But the Captain would not quit. He tried even then to rise to his hindlegs and make assault, but the effort only sent him falling backward,squealing--and left him on his side, moaning for his gone liberty.
For he knew. He knew that his freedom was gone, even as he made hislast floundering, piteous endeavors. He got up and tried to run, butevery series of awkward moves only sent his black body down into thedust and dirt, and at last he rested there, head up, defiance still inhis eyes, but legs cramped under him.
And then VB wanted to cry. He went through all the sensations--theabrupt drop of spirits, the swelling in the throat, the tickling in thenostrils.
"Oh, Captain!" he moaned. "Captain, don't you see I wouldn't harm you?Only you had to be mine! I had to get bigger than you were,Captain--for my own salvation. It was the only way, boy; it was theonly way!"
And he sat there for a long time, his eyes without the light oftriumph, on his captive.
His heart-beats quickened, a new warmth commenced to steal through hisveins, a new faith in self welled up from his innermost depths, makinghis pulses sharp and hard, making his muscles swell, sending his spiritup and up.
He had fought his first big fight and he had won!
Blood began to drip from the stallion's nose.
"It's where I struck you!" whispered VB, the triumph all gone again,solicitation and a vast love possessing him. "It's where I struck you,Captain. Oh, it hurts me, too--but it must be so, because things are asthey are. There will be more hurts, boy, before we're through. But itmust be!"
His voice gritted on the last.
Sounds from behind roused VB, and he looked around.
The sunlight was going even from the ridge up there, and the whole landwas in shadow. He was a long way from the ranch with this trophy--his,but still ready to do battle at the end of his rope.
"Got one?" a man cried, coming up, and VB recognized him as one of thetrio of fence builders, riding back to their camp.
"Yes--one," muttered VB, and turned to look at the Captain.
Then the man cried: "You've got th' Captain!"
"It's the Captain," said VB unsteadily, as though too much breath werein his lungs. "He's mine--you know--mine!"
The others looked at him in silent awe.
