"There's one in the small corral," she said. "Nexpa told me. It's one
of Jacinto's, so it won't be spooky."
It took him a moment to comprehend what she meant, and then it escaped
him in a strangled way. "Think I can do it that way?"
"You've got to." She was close to crying now, the tears glistening in
her eyes. "There isn't any other way, Crawford. Can't you understand?
You've got to. Right now. You'll never make it to the brush. It's twice
as far as the corral. You'd be out there in the open, and you'd be a
clay pigeon. Your only chance is the corral."
"No!" He tried to break free of her grip on his arm. "I can't. You know
I can't. You saw, out there in the storm, with that pinto."
"You can!" she cried. "You've got to, Crawford, you've got to."
He stared down into her twisted, pale face. Then, with a guttural,
inarticulate sound, he whirled to the French windows, opening one
farther, and stepped out onto the porch. He stood a moment behind the
screen of yellow _lluvia de oro_ covering the lattice. The silence
lay across the compound so thick it almost gagged him. Waiting. There
it was again. His shoulders hunched forward, and his whole tense body
had taken on the look of a hunted animal. He stared furtively down the
length of the porch. His shirt was wringing wet with sweat now.
"Crawford--"
It came from Merida, standing in the window behind him. Without turning
around, he moved down the steps, his boots making a clatter in the
silence. Then he was moving across the ground in an urgent, shuffling
gait, his narrow, dark head turning ceaselessly from side to side. He
realized he was still holding the glass, and threw it from him with
a muffled curse. With every step nearer the corral, something seemed
to be contracting about his heart. He was fighting for breath, and
sweat had turned his beard soggy when he reached the fence. In the
semi-gloom, he could barely make out the shape of the horse. This was
the corral they broke broncs in, built in three sections, the largest
section on this side, with a chute at the other end, and beyond that,
a small, tight holding corral not much bigger than a stall, where they
held the animals before putting them into the chute to be saddled. It
had been Otis Rockland's boast that this smaller section was built
so hog-tight and bull-tight it would hold the wildest bronc that
ever double-shuffled. The heavy, reinforced cedar bars were so close
together a man could not crawl between them but had to go through the
gate. This gate itself was built so that it would close automatically,
a rawhide rope run from its frame through a pulley on the overhead
structure with a bucket of sand hanging at its end. Whenever the gate
was open the weight of the sand bucket pulled it closed again, and the
drop bar fell automatically into its sockets on the outside.
Crawford stopped at this gate, glancing from one side to another at the
brush. There was a small crackle behind the bunkhouse. With a startled
abruptness, he pulled the rope that hoisted the drop bar from its
sockets and lifted it above the top of the gate, allowing the portal
to swing open. The bar would not drop back into position as long as
the gate was ajar. Holding the gate open, Crawford found a rock large
enough to wedge beneath the bottom bar and keep the sand bucket's
weight from pulling the gate closed when he let go. The horse inside
snorted softly. Crawford stiffened by the gate post. Then, his whole
body so tense the muscles ached, he took a forced, jerky step toward
the animal. The horse snorted again, louder. It had been hitched to
the corral and, as Crawford drew near, the animal began tugging at the
reins nervously.
"Easy, boy, easy." Crawford tried to make his voice soft and
reassuring, but it came out tight, harsh. "You're going to break your
headstall. Easy, you jughead."
But as he drew near, the horse's efforts to get free became wilder. It
whinnied shrilly and reared up. The sound halted Crawford in the middle
of the corral, his whole body a rigid line. The reins pulled free of
their half hitch on the cedar-post bar, and the animal wheeled away
from Crawford toward the far corner of the small corral. Crawford's
movements were forced, now, as he moved to catch the animal in that
corner. He bent forward slightly to peer at the lines of the beast. The
darkness revealed only a hazy impression of broad rump and viciously
churning hind legs and a roached mane. The stirrup leathers flapped
loosely as the animal moved down the fence, trapped in the corner now
by Crawford's advance. He was close to it when the horse wheeled with a
strangled, screaming sound and broke toward him in a rush.
"No!"
It escaped Crawford in a hoarse shout. He stood there a moment longer,
staring at the horse, his whole face contorted. Then he threw himself
to one side, and the animal galloped past. It saw the partly open
gate and was in a dead run by the time it reached that side. But in
its frantic rush, the beast struck the opening partly broadside, rump
crashing against the gate, head slamming into the fence post. The horse
reeled back, screaming in rage, and wheeled to go through headfirst.
But the blow of its body had jarred loose the rock Crawford had wedged
beneath the gate, and the heavy bucket of sand descended with a rush
to the ground, slamming the gate shut before the horse reached it. The
drop bar outside fell into its sockets with a thud, about the same
time the charging horse struck the gate once more. The whole corral
shuddered with the impact, but the gate held firm. The dazed horse
staggered away from the fence, making thwarted, guttural sounds of pain.
Crawford realized he was trembling now. Pain swept up his legs, and the
muscles across his belly began to jump and knot. Still dazed, the horse
wheeled about wildly. It caught sight of him again, and all its enraged
bestial instincts must have pinned the cause of its pain on Crawford,
for the animal screamed once more and rushed him.
"No," shouted Crawford, again, his voice choked with the terrible
reasonless fear that inundated him. He whirled and leaped to the high
fence, trying to climb it. But he heard the pound of the animal's
hoofs behind, and realized he would never make the top in time, and
threw himself off. As he rolled to the ground, the animal crashed into
the fence where he had been a moment before. Crawford stumbled to his
feet, starting in a wild run for the gate which led into the chute.
But he saw before he reached it that it was shut tight too. He turned
to the other gate, his whole consciousness filled with the sound of
the panting, whinnying, snorting animal behind him. At the portal, he
tried to reach through and lift the drop bar from its sockets, but the
cedar-post log was too heavy. He grabbed the gate, heaving at it madly.
The horse was trotting back and forth on the other side of the small
corral in a dazed way, shaking its head, snorting. Crouched weakly on
his knees by the gate, trembling and shuddering, Crawford tried to keep
his voice down, hoping he would not arouse the horse again.
"Jacinto," he called. "I'm in the corral. The bar's dropped on this
gate in the corral and I'm trapped inside with Africano. Jacinto, come
and get me out--"
There was no sound from outside. He sagged there, panting, the pain
clutching at him spasmodically, clenching his teeth in a desperate
battle against the fear.
"Merida! Can't you hear me? Somebody. Jacinto! Come and let me out.
The bar's dropped and Africano's in here. That killer's in here and
I can't get out. Merida." His voice rose and he began shaking at the
gate again. "Someone hear me! Merida! Jacinto! I'm locked in with that
black killer--" He was screaming now, throwing himself bodily at the
door like a frenzied animal--"Damn you, come and get me out, damn you,
Merida, you put that _puro negro_ in here, you knew I'd be trapped
in here with Africano, someone, come and let me out, for God's sake,
Jacinto, let me out, Aforismo, can't you hear me, you can hear me, damn
you, oh, God damn you--"
He stopped, huddled against the door, sobbing uncontrollably, realizing
his own screams had set the black off again. Crawford jumped away as
the horse came at him, stumbling and rolling in the dirt, bawling like
a baby, too far gone to realize clearly what he was doing. He tried to
claw up the fence again. But that pain in his legs and his terrible
fear robbed him of much control. His boots beat a futile tattoo on the
bars, seeking the openings in between. His bloody hands clawed blindly
for holds. And the fence was too high for him to reach the top before
the horse crossed the small corral. Over his shoulder he could see the
animal coming.
"No! no! no--"
His wild bellow was cut off as the animal spun broadside against
him. He heard his own crushed roar of pain, and he fell off into the
dirt, his arms instinctively going over his head to protect them from
flailing hoofs as he rolled away. The horse was as wild and frenzied
as Crawford now. Two beasts filled the narrow confines of the corral
with their crazed screams, forming shadowy, thundering, pounding,
running shapes back and forth between the fences, the whole structure
shuddering as one or the other smashed into the sides. Crawford did not
try again to climb the fence. Hands bloody, clothes covered with dirt,
shirt torn, all his wild concentration was on avoiding the mad, blind
rushes of the killer horse. He found himself backed up against the door
leading into the chute, facing the charging horse. He threw himself
bodily aside, and the animal crashed into the door. Panels cracked and
splintered, and corral posts groaned with the strain. The _puro negro_
stumbled back, blood streaming from its head, eyes showing their whites
in the gathering darkness, foam dripping from its jaw.
Crawford had rolled across the short space to the side fence. And
crouching there now, watching the horse wheeling and circling, seeking
him, a terrible blinding anger swept him, blotting out for a moment
the awful fear and pain. They thought they could do this to him? They
thought they could lock him in a stall with a killer? The hell--
He dove aside again as the horse rushed, feeling no pain in his legs as
he landed, feeling no panic, feeling only that utter rage, scalding,
vitriolic, cleansing.
"You think you can do this to me?" he found himself shouting. "Merida?
You think you can lock me in here like this? Damn you, Merida!" He
moved in front of the door to the chute, yelling crazily at the animal.
"Come on, Africano, here I am, you bastard, here I am, come on, see me,
damn you, come on--"
Dirt spurted beneath the churning hoofs as the horse charged and reared
above the man. Crawford waited till the last moment, jumped aside.
Panels cracked and split again as twelve hundred pounds of horseflesh
crashed against the gate. The horse staggered off, whirled back to
Crawford.
Gasping, Crawford pawed sweat from his eyes, dodged aside. The _puro
negro_ caught itself before plunging into the fence there, whirling on
one hind foot and changing its lead in mid-air to rush Crawford again
with a frenzied scream. He put himself in front of the chute door again.
Once more it was the horse's wild scream and the leap aside and the
maddened animal shaking the whole corral as it crashed into the door.
Another panel cracked, and hinges creaked, and the door sagged outward.
Blood covering its head, the black whirled and came at Crawford
sideways. It didn't give him enough room on either side, and the
black's shoulder caught him as he tried to jump away from the rear
fence. He went down, rolling up against the side with a force that
stunned him.
The horse had smashed into the rear fence, and it backed away, shaking
its head. Sensing Crawford at its side, the animal turned, shifting its
weight to kick.
Crawford saw the movement and knew what it meant, and not even hearing
his own shout, he clawed up the fence and threw himself directly at the
horse's rump. His weight struck the black hocks, and, without leverage,
all the kick did was throw him bodily back against the cedar logs.
With almost human cunning, Africano jumped forward to clear the space
between them so it could catch Crawford with the full force of its
kick. He rolled under the hoofs as they lashed out. One of them caught
his shoulder and he screamed in agony. Then he was up against the door
again.
He didn't know how many more times he drew the black into that door
before the portal collapsed. It was all a wild haze of choking dirt
and soggy sweat and salty blood and lashing hoofs. Time and time again
he waited there at the gate till the last moment, and then jumped
free, allowing the horse to batter on into it. And finally, with the
whole corral shuddering with the impact, the black crashed through
the portal, tearing its lower half clear out and carrying the upper
portion of the gate about its head and neck as it stumbled on into the
chute. The opposite door to the chute had been left open, and the horse
went on through into the larger corral.
Pawing blood and sweat off his face, drawing in a great gulp of air,
Crawford staggered out after the animal. It was logical that Merida
should have taken this long to hear the racket from the house, but
the men from the bunkhouse should have reached the corrals long ago.
Jacinto was at the fence with Merida, and Quartel was coming up in his
hard-heeled run, followed by Aforismo and the others.
"Crawford," cried Jacinto, "get out between the bars! You can do it
now. While Africano's still fighting the door. Are you loco? He's a
killer. He'll run you down. You can get away now."
"No," gasped Crawford, "no," and ran on toward the horse where it had
dragged the chute door clear out into the middle of the corral. He
wasn't finished yet. He knew he had to do it now or never, while the
anger still blotted out his fear. He worked the _puro negro_ into a
corner and got close enough to jerk the shattered door off its neck.
The horse tried to break away, but Crawford threw himself in front of
it, getting the frenzied, lathered animal back against the fence. One
of the hands was belatedly climbing the fence with a rope. Crawford did
not wait; he moved in toward the horse.
Screaming like a woman, Africano charged straight at him. There hadn't
been enough room between them for the beast to gain much momentum,
however. Crawford met it almost head-on, throwing himself partly aside
only at the last moment, grabbing the roached mane with one hand and
hooking his other arm around beneath the neck and letting the horse's
shoulder slam into his hip, throwing him up and over.
"Crawford," he heard Jacinto scream, "oh, you fool, Crawford."
He didn't hear any more, then, except the horse's wild, frenzied sounds
and the horse's drumming hoofs. He didn't see any more except the black
devil beneath him, doing everything within the scope of its vicious
cunning to get him off.
It bucked, and he took every jarring drop screaming triumphantly at the
agony it caused him. It rolled, and instead of stepping clear off and
waiting till the horse came up again, he rode its belly around, eyes
open wide, dodging the death in its flailing legs. There was an insane
frustration in the black's eyes as it came onto its feet again and
found the man had never left it. The horse rolled again, directing its
kicks this time. Still Crawford was on when it came up.
He rolled it from one side of the corral to the other, until it had
enough of that, and began going over backward. A man stepping off then
would have ultimately lost his touch with the horse too. But Crawford
rode its neck when it twisted onto its hips and rode its head when it
put its rump into the ground and rode its belly while it was upside
down.
The horse rose into a veritable orgasm of mad bucking, pin-wheeling,
sunfishing, humping up and coming down with all four feet planted, and
knocking most of the consciousness from Crawford every time it landed.
Crawford was bleeding at the nose and ears, face covered with blood and
sweat, clothes black with dirt. His whole world was one of shocking,
jarring pain and a grim, terrible concentration on finishing this.
The horse began rolling again, trying desperately to get the man under
its black body, and Crawford went with it, crying openly now, pawing
blindly for holds, head rocking as a hoof caught him, lying over the
animal's back with his nose streaming blood on its dirty hide.
Finally he felt the animal come to a stop beneath him, legs trembling,
barrel heaving, lather dripping off it white as snow. Crawford slumped
over, hearing his own sobbing, not knowing whether the wet on his face
was sweat or blood or both. He waited for the animal to gather itself
again. It didn't. Finally Crawford slid off and his legs collapsed
beneath him; he grabbed the horse's cannon bone and pulled himself to
his knees, then the mane and pulled himself erect. He bent over and was
sick. Choking weakly, he saw them coming from the corral.
"Get away, stay away. I'm taking this horse back in. You wanted him for
cow work? You got him." Merida swam into his vision, and he spat out
blood and teeth before he could speak again. "And maybe you don't know
it, Merida, but you did me a big favor. Yeah. A _big_ favor."
_Chapter Thirteen_