Shoeing the Buckskin
Hartigan and the blacksmith were at it hard again.
"Look a' here," said Shives, "I want ye to notice all this here Church
business was faked up by that man Paul, or Saul, or whatever he called
himself; and the real disciples would have nothing to do with him. They
threw him down cold whenever he tried to mix in. Now if you chuck him
and stick to the simple kindness of the old-timers that really did sit
around with the Master--Paul _never even saw_ Him!--I'm willing to hear
ye. But a man that writes whole screeds about getting or not getting
married and what kind of frippery women have to wear on their heads,
well, I've got him sized up for a fellow that had a dressing down from
some woman and probably deserved all he got--and more."
It was a long speech for Shives and more than once John Higginbotham
tried to break in.
But Shives struck the anvil a succession of ringing blows which
overpowered all rival voices as effectively as any speaker's gavel could
have done. Then, turning suddenly on Higginbotham, he said, "See here,
_Deacon_" (and he stressed the "Deacon"), "if you take the trouble to
read a publication called the Bible, and in particular the early numbers
of the second volume, you'll find that the Big Teacher taught
socialism--and the real disciples did, too. It was that little lawyer
feller Paul that succeeded in twisting things around to the old basis of
'get all you can; there must always be rich and poor'; and it ain't a
bit of use your preaching to a man 'don't steal,' when his babies are
crying for bread. I know I'd steal fast enough; so would you, if you
were anything of a man. It would be your 'fore-God duty to steal; yes,
and murder, too, if there was no other way of feeding them that He gave
you to feed. And the law has no right to preach 'no stealing' when it
fixes it so you can't help stealing. If this yere government of ours was
what it pretends to be and ain't, it would arrange so every man could
get enough work at least to feed him and his folks and save himself from
starvation when he was sick or old. There wouldn't be any stealing then
and mighty little of any other crime.
"That's my opinion; and I tell you it was that way the Big Teacher
preached it in the beginning, as you can see plain enough. And the first
ring of disciples were honest socialists. It was that letter-writing
advance agent of the trusts that you call _Saint_ Paul, that managed to
get control of the company and then twisted things back into the old
ways. And in my opinion the hull bunch of you is crooks hiding behind
the name of a good man who threw you down cold when He was alive. And
the very words He used happens to be a verse I remember: 'Ye compass sea
and land to make one proselyte and when he is made ye make him twofold
more a child of hell than yourselves.'"
And the anvil rang, "clang, clang, clang!"
"Now, Shives," bawled Jim in his stentorian voice, "you haven't _begun_
to think. And every statement you make is wrong and none of your
quotations ever happened before; otherwise, I am quite willing to accept
everything you say. For example----"
"Hello! who's this?"
Up to the door of the blacksmith shop came riding a band of mounted
Indians. First of these was a middle-sized man with large square
features, a single eagle feather in his hair. Hartigan recognized at
once the famous War Chief, Red Cloud, the leader of all the Sioux.
Riding beside him was an interpreter, and behind him was a small boy,
mounted on a tall pony--buckskin, so far as one could tell, but so
shrouded in a big blanket that little of his body was seen; his head was
bedizened with a fancy and expensive bridle gear.
The whole shop turned to see. The interpreter got down and approaching
Shives, said, "You can shoe pony, when he ain't never been shod?"
"Sure thing," said Shives, "we do it every day."
"How much?"
"Five dollars."
"Do him now?"
"Yes, I guess so."
The interpreter spoke to Red Cloud; the Chief motioned to the boy, who
dropped from the blanketed pony and led it forward.
"Bring him in here," and Shives indicated the shop. But that was not so
easy. The pony had never before been under a roof, and now he positively
declined to break his record. Some men would have persisted and felt it
their duty to show the horse "who is boss." Shives was inclined to be
masterful; it was Hartigan who sized up the situation.
"He's never been under a roof, Jack. I wouldn't force him; it'll only
make trouble."
"All right; tie him out there." So the pony was tied on the shady side
of the shop.
Hartigan turned to the half-breed interpreter to ask, "What do you want
him shod for?" It was well known that the Indians did not shoe their
horses.
The half-breed spoke to Red Cloud, who was standing near with his men,
talking among themselves.
The Chief said something; then the interpreter replied, "By and by, we
race him, maybe on the Big Wet Sunday; prairie wet, so he go slow."
There was a general chuckle at this. Sure enough, the Fourth of July,
presumably the race day in mind, it nearly always rained; and for the
wet track they wanted their racer shod.
There are few short operations that take more horse management that the
first shoeing of a full-grown horse, especially a wild Indian pony.
Nearly everything depends on the handling and on the courage of the
pony. In nine cases out of ten, the pony must be thrown. On rare
occasions a very brave horse, of good temper, can be shod by a clever
farrier without throwing. But it takes a skilful shoer, with a strong
and skilful helper, for the assistant must keep one front foot of the
horse off the ground all the time the hind shoe is being put on, or the
shoer is liable to get his brains kicked out. As they were discussing
the need of throwing the pony, the interpreter said:
"Red Cloud no want him thrown. Chaska hold him." The bright-eyed boy
from the mountain top--yes, the same--came forward and, holding the
pony's head, began crooning a little song. The pony rubbed his nose
against him, recovered his calm, and thanks to Hartigan's help--for he
had volunteered eagerly to lend a hand--the operation progressed without
mishap. There were, however, one or two little tussles, in which the
great blanket slipped off the pony's back and showed a rounded,
beautiful barrel of a chest, hocks like a deer, and smooth, clean limbs;
a very unusually fine build for an Indian pony.
"By George! He's a good one," said Jim, and his heart warmed to the
brave pony. The falling of the blanket also showed some white spots,
left by ancient saddle galls. Hartigan, after a discriminating glance,
said:
"Say, boys, this is their racer all right. This is the famous Buckskin
Cayuse. He's a good one. Now you see why they want him shod."
What a temptation it was to the white men; how easy it would have been
for Shives to put one nail in a trifle deep, to send that pony forth
shod--well shod--but shod so that within the next ten miles he would go
lame, and in the race, a month ahead, fall far behind--if, indeed, he
raced at all. Yet, to his credit be it said that Shives handled that
pony as though it were his own; he gave him every care, and Red Cloud
paid the five dollars and rode away content.
Jim gazed after the little band as they loped gently down the street and
round the curve till a bank cut off the view. "Say, boys, this is
great," he said, "I wouldn't have missed it for anything. There's going
to be a real race this year."
There could be no question of that. The securing of Blazing Star was a
guarantee of a wonderful event if widespread interest and fine
horseflesh could make it so.