Bred of the Desert by Charles Marcus Horton (read along books .TXT) đ
- Author: Charles Marcus Horton
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âDoc,â he drawled, removing his pipe from between whiskers that glinted in the light of the fire, ânow that youâve got him, what are you thinking of doing with that horse?â
âIâll take him back,â replied Stephen, pleasantly.
The other was silent. âShore!â he rejoined, after a moment. âBut take him back where?â
âWhere he belongs.â
There was further silence. âExcuse me!â finally exclaimed the other. âI was thinking as mebbe youâd take him whence he came.â
Stephen sat erect and looked at the other. He was smoking again complacently.
âWhence come you?â asked Stephen, after a time.
The other slowly removed his pipe. Then he told him. Then Stephen spoke. And then the man rose stiffly, crossed solemnly to him and shook hands with him cordially.
âI knowed you was white the fust day I see you,â he declared. Then he waved a vague hand over the others. âTheyâve allâall of âemâtraveled that way. I was raisedââ
A sudden shrill scream out in the darkness interrupted him. It was a horse. The cry stirred the entire camp. The Professor arose, sauntered out, whistling, whirled, and called back sharply. The others ran toward him; the large man struck a match. The white horse was limping on three legs. They bent over and examined the fourth. The match went out. All straightened up. As they did so Pat sounded a shrill nicker.
âBusted!â exclaimed the large man, quietly. âWell, Iâm a goat! That black horse has kicked old Tom clear over the divide. IâIâm clean done! Quick as lightning, too! No preambles; no circumlocutions; no nothing. Just put it to him. Good Lord!â Then he regretfully drew a revolver. âI reckon you boys better stand back.â
A shot broke the quiet, and the desert shivered and was still again. The white horse sank to the ground. Stephen walked to Pat, struck a match, and looked him over critically. Pat was torn and bleeding in two places along the neck, but otherwise he needed no attention. Stephen patted him thoughtfully, gratefully, fighting the horror of what might have been had this splendid horse weakened in the crisis. No wonder the little girl in the valley worshiped him.
But he said nothing. After a time he returned to the fire and sat down among a very sober group of men. Presently the man with the scrubby beard broke the quiet. His voice sounded hollow and distressed.
âI knowed it,â he declared. âThough I thought old Tom âuâd done better.â He began to roll a cigarette. âPore old Tom! Heâs killed; heâs deadâdead and gone.â With the cigarette made, he snatched a brand from the fire and lighted it. He fell to smoking in thoughtful silence, in his eyes a look of unutterable sadness.
The Professor bestirred himself. âTell me,â he asked, lifting his gaze to the heavens reflectivelyââtell me, does any of you believe that horsesâany animilesâhas souls?â
The lean man glanced at him. His eyes now had the look of one anxious to express his views, but cautiously refused to be baited. Finally he made answer.
âIf youâre askinâ my opinion,â he said, âIâll tell you that I know they have.â He was silent. âI know that animals has the same thing weâve got,â he continuedââthat thing we call the soulâbut theyâve got it in smaller proportions, so to speak. Itâs easy as falling off a bucking bronc. Take old Tom out there. Take that Lady horse that got killed two years ago by rustlersâtake any horse, any dumb animalâand Iâll show you in fifteen different ways that theyâve got souls.â
âHow?â
The lean man glared. âNow âhowâ!â he snapped. âYou give me a mortal pang. Why donât you never use your eyes once like other and more decent folks? Get the habit. Youâll see there ainât any difference between animals and humans, only speech, and theyâve got that!â
The large man smiled. âLetâs have it, Bob,â he invited. âWhereâll we look for it first?â
The lean man showed an impatience born of contempt. âWell,â he began, tossing away his cigarette, âin desires, first, then in their power to appreciate, and, finally, in their sense of the worth of things. They have that, and donât you think they hainât. But theyâve got the others, too. Animals like to eat and drink and play, donât they? You know that! And they understand when youâre good to âem and when youâre cussed mean. You know that. And they know death when they see it, take it from me, because theyâre as sensitive to loss of motion, or breathing, or animal heat, as us humansâmore so. They feel pain, for instance, moreân we do, because, lackinâ one of the fiveâor six, if you likeâsenses, their other senses is keyed up higherân ourân.â
The Professor looked belligerent. âGet particular!â he demanded.
âI wonât get particular,â snapped the other. âSâpose you wrastle it out for yourselfâsame as us humans.â Evidently he was still bitter against this man. âThat Lady horse oâ mine,â he went on, his eyes twinkling, addressing himself to the others, âshe had it all sized about right. She used to say to me, when Iâd come close to her in the morning: âWell, old sock,â sheâd say, throwinâ her old ears forward, âhow are you this morninâ?âYou know,â sheâd declare, âI kind oâ like you because you understand me.â Then sheâd about wipe her nose on me and go on. âWonder why it is that so many of you donât! Itâs easy enough, our language,â sheâd pâint out, âbut most oâ you two-legged critters donât seem to get us. Itâs right funny! You appear to get âmost everything elseâhouses, and land, and playinâ-cards, and sich. But you donât never seem to get usâthat is, most oâ you! Why, âtainât nothinâ but sign language, neitherâsame as Injuns talkinâ to whites. But I reckon youâre idiots, most oâ you, and blind, you hairless animals, wearinâ stuff stole offen sheep, and your ugly white faces mostly smooth. You got the idee we donât know nothinââpity us, I sâpose, because we canât understand you. Lawzee! We understand you, all right. Itâs you âat donât understand us. And thatâs the hull trouble. You think weâre just a lump oâ common dirt, with a little tincture oâ movement added, just enough so as we can run and drag your loads around for you. Wisht you could âaâ heard me and old Tom last night, after youâd all turned in, talkinâ on the subject oâ keepinâ well and strong and serene oâ mind. Sign language? Some. But what of it, old whiskers? Donât every deef-and-dumb party get along with few sounds and plenty of signs? You humans give me mortal distress!â
âAnd so on,â concluded this lover of animals. âThus Lady horse used to talk to me every morninâ, tryinâ to make me see things some little clearer. And thatâs all animalsâif you happen to know the âtry meâ on their little old middle chamber work.â He fell silent.
The others said nothing. Each sat smoking reflectively, gazing into the dying flames, until one arose and prepared to turn in. Stephen was the last except the Professor and the man with the scrubby beard. And finally the Professor gained his feet and, with a glance at the last figure remaining at the fire, took off his boots and rolled up in his blanket. For a long moment he stared curiously at the other bowed in thought.
âAinât you goinâ to turn in?â he finally inquired. âYou ainât et up by nothinâ, be you?â
The lean man slowly lifted his head. âI was thinkinâ,â he said, half to himself, âof aâa kind of horseâs prayer I once see in a harness-shop in Albuquerque.â
The other twisted himself under his blanket. âHow did it go?â he asked, encouragingly. âLetâs all have it!â
The lean man arose. ââTo thee, my master,â it started off,â he began, moving slowly toward his blanket. Suddenly he paused. âIâI donât just seem to remember it all,â he said, and sat down and pulled off one of his boots. He held it in his hands absently.
The Professor urged him on. âLet her come,â he said, his face now hidden in the folds of his covering. âShoot itâletâs hear.â
ââTo thee, my master, I offer my prayer,ââ presently continued the other, turning reflective eyes toward the flickering coals. ââFeed me, water me, care for me, and, when theâthe dayâs work is done, provide me with shelter and a clean, dry bed, and, when you can, a stall wide enough for me to lie down in in comfort. Always be kind to me. Talk to meâyour voice often means as much to me as the reins. Pet me sometimes, that I may serve you the more gladly and know that my services are appreciated, and that I may learn to love you. Do not jerk the reins, and do not whip me when going up-hill. And when I donât understand you, what you want, do not strike or beat or kick me, but give me a chance to understand you. And if I continue to fail to understand, see if something is not wrong with my harness or feet.ââ
The Professorâs blanket stirred. âGo on!â he yelled. âSounds all right. Go ahead! Is that all?â
âI disremember the rest,â replied the other. âLetâs see!â He was silent. âNo,â he finally blurted out, âI canât get it. It says something about overloading, and a-hitching where water donât drop on him, andâOh yes! âI canât tell you when Iâm thirsty,â it goes on, âso give me cool, clean water often. Never put a frosty bit in my mouth; first warm it by holdinâ it a moment in your hands. And, remember, I try to carry you and your burdens without a murmur, and I wait patiently for you long hours of the day and night. Without power to choose my shoes or path, I sometimes stumble and fall, but I stand always in readiness at any moment to lose my life in your service. And this is important, and, finally, O my master! when my useful strength is gone do not turn me out to starve, or sell me to some cruel owner to be slowly tortured and starved to death; but do thou, my master, take my life in the kindest way, and your God will reward you here and hereafter. You will not consider me irreverent, I know, if I ask all this in the name of Him Who was born in a stable.ââ
The Professorâs blanket stirred again. âGo on,â he demanded in muffled tones. âIs that all?â
The lean man slipped off his second boot. âNo,â he replied, quietly, âthat ainât all.â
âWell, go ahead. Itâs good. That horse must âaâ been a city horse; but go on!â
âOnly one more word, anyway,â was the rejoinder. He was still holding his boot.
âWhat is it?â
âWhyââthe voice was solemnââitâs âAmen.ââ
âAw, shucks!â came from the depths of the blanket.
The lean man turned his head. âSay, you!â he rasped, belligerently.
âWhat?â
For answer the boot sailed across the camp.
The Professor popped his head out of the blanket, drew it back suddenly, popped it out again, all strongly suggestive of a turtle.
There was a hoarse laugh, then silence, but none of those men forgot the Prayer of the Horse.
CHAPTER XIXANOTHER CHANGE OF MASTERS
The next morning Pat had a change from the tedium of the desert. With the others he struck into a narrow canyon that led out to a beaten trail upon a rolling mesa. The trail wound diagonally across the mesa from the south and lost itself in snake-like twistings among hills to the north. Guided to the right into this trail, Pat found himself, a
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