THE PSYCHOLOGY OF THE BLUE RAT
_Camp Twelve_
Next morning as we took the boat--which was filled with horses wild
and restless--I had a moment of exultation to think we had left the
way of tin cans and whiskey bottles, and were now about to enter upon
the actual trail. The horses gave us a great deal of trouble on the
boat, but we managed to get across safely without damage to any part
of our outfit.
Here began our acquaintance with the Blue Rat. It had become evident
to me during our stay in Quesnelle that we needed one more horse to
make sure of having provisions sufficient to carry us over the three
hundred and sixty miles which lay between the Fraser and our next
eating-place on the Skeena. Horses, however, were very scarce, and it
was not until late in the day that we heard of a man who had a pony
to sell. The name of this man was Dippy.
He was a German, and had a hare-lip and a most seductive gentleness
of voice. I gladly make him historical. He sold me the Blue Rat, and
gave me a chance to study a new type of horse.
Herr Dippy was not a Washington Irving sort of Dutchman; he conformed
rather to the modern New York tradesman. He was small, candid, and
smooth, very smooth, of speech. He said: "Yes, the pony is gentle. He
can be rode or packed, but you better lead him for a day or two till
he gets quiet."
I had not seen the pony, but my partner had crossed to the west side
of the Fraser River, and had reported him to be a "nice little pony,
round and fat and gentle." On that I had rested. Mr. Dippy joined us
at the ferry and waited around to finish the trade. I presumed he
intended to cross and deliver the pony, which was in a corral on the
west side, but he lisped out a hurried excuse. "The ferry is not
coming back for to-day and so--"
Well, I paid him the money on the strength of my side partner's
report; besides, it was Hobson's choice.
Mr. Dippy took the twenty-five dollars eagerly and vanished into
obscurity. We passed to the wild side of the Fraser and entered upon
a long and intimate study of the Blue Rat. He shucked out of the log
stable a smooth, round, lithe-bodied little cayuse of a blue-gray
color. He looked like a child's toy, but seemed sturdy and of good
condition. His foretop was "banged," and he had the air of a
mischievous, resolute boy. His eyes were big and black, and he
studied us with tranquil but inquiring gaze as we put the pack-saddle
on him. He was very small.
"He's not large, but he's a gentle little chap," said I, to ease my
partner of his dismay over the pony's surprising smallness.
"I believe he shrunk during the night," replied my partner. "He
seemed two sizes bigger yesterday."
We packed him with one hundred pounds of our food and lashed it all
on with rope, while the pony dozed peacefully. Once or twice I
thought I saw his ears cross; one laid back, the other set
forward,--bad signs,--but it was done so quickly I could not be sure
of it.
We packed the other horses while the blue pony stood resting one hind
leg, his eyes dreaming.
I flung the canvas cover over the bay packhorse.... Something took
place. I heard a bang, a clatter, a rattling of hoofs. I peered
around the bay and saw the blue pony performing some of the most
finished, vigorous, and varied bucking it has ever been given me to
witness. He all but threw somersaults. He stood on his upper lip. He
humped up his back till he looked like a lean cat on a graveyard
fence. He stood on his toe calks and spun like a weather-vane on a
livery stable, and when the pack exploded and the saddle slipped
under his belly, he kicked it to pieces by using both hind hoofs as
featly as a man would stroke his beard.
After calming the other horses, I faced my partner solemnly.
"Oh, by the way, partner, where did you get that nice, quiet, little
blue pony of yours?"
Partner smiled sheepishly. "The little divil. Buffalo Bill ought to
have that pony."
"Well, now," said I, restraining my laughter, "the thing to do is to
put that pack on so that it will stay. That pony will try the same
thing again, sure."
We packed him again with great care. His big, innocent black eyes
shining under his bang were a little more alert, but they showed
neither fear nor rage. We roped him in every conceivable way, and at
last stood clear and dared him to do his prettiest.
He did it. All that had gone before was merely preparatory, a
blood-warming, so to say; the real thing now took place. He stood up
on his hind legs and shot into the air, alighting on his four feet as
if to pierce the earth. He whirled like a howling dervish, grunting,
snorting--unseeing, and almost unseen in a nimbus of dust, strap
ends, and flying pine needles. His whirling undid him. We seized the
rope, and just as the pack again slid under his feet we set shoulder
to the rope and threw him. He came to earth with a thud, his legs
whirling uselessly in the air. He resembled a beetle in molasses. We
sat upon his head and discussed him.
"He is a wonder," said my partner.
We packed him again with infinite pains, and when he began bucking we
threw him again and tried to kill him. We were getting irritated. We
threw him hard, and drew his hind legs up to his head till he
grunted. When he was permitted to rise, he looked meek and small and
tired and we were both deeply remorseful. We rearranged the pack--it
was some encouragement to know he had not bucked it entirely off--and
by blindfolding him we got him started on the trail behind the
train.
"I suppose that simple-hearted Dutchman is gloating over us from
across the river," said I to partner; "but no matter, we are
victorious."
I was now quite absorbed in a study of the blue pony's psychology. He
was a new type of mean pony. His eye did not roll nor his ears fall
back. He seemed neither scared nor angry. He still looked like a
roguish, determined boy. He was alert, watchful, but not vicious. He
went off--precisely like one of those mechanical mice or turtles
which sidewalk venders operate. Once started, he could not stop till
he ran down. He seemed not to take our stern measures in bad part. He
regarded it as a fair contract, apparently, and considered that we
had won. True, he had lost both hair and skin by getting tangled in
the rope, but he laid up nothing against us, and, as he followed
meekly along behind, partner dared to say:--
"He's all right now. I presume he has been running out all winter and
is a little wild. He's satisfied now. We'll have no more trouble with
him."
Every time I looked back at the poor, humbled little chap, my heart
tingled with pity and remorse. "We were too rough," I said. "We must
be more gentle."
"Yes, he's nervous and scary; we must be careful not to give him a
sudden start. I'll lead him for a while."
An hour later, as we were going down a steep and slippery hill, the
Rat saw his chance. He passed into another spasm, opening and
shutting like a self-acting jack-knife. He bounded into the midst of
the peaceful horses, scattering them to right and to left in terror.
He turned and came up the hill to get another start. Partner took a
turn on a stump, and all unmindful of it the Rat whirled and made a
mighty spring. He reached the end of the rope and his hand-spring
became a vaulting somersault. He lay, unable to rise, spatting the
wind, breathing heavily. Such annoying energy I have never seen. We
were now mad, muddy, and very resolute. We held him down till he lay
quite still. Any well-considered, properly bred animal would have
been ground to bone dust by such wondrous acrobatic movements. He was
skinned in one or two places, the hair was scraped from his nose, his
tongue bled, but all these were mere scratches. When we repacked him
he walked off comparatively unhurt.
NOON ON THE PLAIN
The horned toad creeping along the sand,
The rattlesnake asleep beneath the sage,
Have now a subtle fatal charm.
In their sultry calm, their love of heat,
I read once more the burning page
Of nature under cloudless skies.
O pitiless and splendid land!
Mine eyelids close, my lips are dry
By force of thy hot floods of light.
Soundless as oil the wind flows by,
Mine aching brain cries out for night!