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[Illustration]
BRED OF THE DESERT
A HORSE AND A ROMANCE
BY
MARCUS HORTON
[Illustration]
NEW YORK
GROSSET & DUNLAP
PUBLISHERS
Published by Arrangement with Harper & Brothers
COPYRIGHT, 1915, BY HARPER & BROTHERS
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
PUBLISHED APRIL, 1915
TO
A. D. B. S. H.
WHO TAUGHT CONSIDERATION FOR THE DUMB
THIS WORK IS LOVINGLY INSCRIBED
CONTENTS
Chapter Page
I. A COLT IS BORN 1
II. FELIPE CELEBRATES 15
III. A SURPRISE 27
IV. A NEW HOME 35
V. LONELINESS 47
VI. THE FIRST GREAT LESSON 57
VII. A STRANGER 72
VIII. FELIPE MAKES A DISCOVERY 85
IX. THE SECOND GREAT LESSON 98
X. THE STRANGER AGAIN 112
XI. LOVE REJECTED 126
XII. ADVENTURE 145
XIII. IN THE WASTE PLACES 156
XIV. A PICTURE 172
XV. CHANGE OF MASTERS 175
XVI. PAT TURNS THIEF 186
XVII. A RUNNING FIGHT 199
XVIII. AN ENEMY 210
XIX. ANOTHER CHANGE OF MASTERS 228
XX. FIDELITY 240
XXI. LIFE AND DEATH 256
XXII. QUIESCENCE 280
XXIII. THE REUNION 285
BRED OF THE DESERT
CHAPTER I
A COLT IS BORN
It was high noon in the desert, but there was no dazzling sunlight. Over
the earth hung a twilight, a yellow-pink softness that flushed across
the sky like the approach of a shadow, covering everything yet
concealing nothing, creeping steadily onward, yet seemingly still,
until, pressing low over the earth, it took on changing color, from pink
to gray, from gray to black--gloom that precedes tropical showers. Then
the wind came--a breeze rising as it were from the hot earth--forcing
the Spanish dagger to dipping acknowledgment, sending dust-devils
swirling across the slow curves of the desert--and then the storm burst
in all its might. For this was a storm--a sand-storm of the Southwest.
Down the slopes to the west billowed giant clouds of sand. At the bottom
these clouds tumbled and surged and mounted, and then, resuming their
headlong course, swept across the flat land bordering the river, hurtled
across the swollen Rio Grande itself, and so on up the gentle rise of
ground to the town, where they swung through the streets in ruthless
strides--banging signs, ripping up roofings, snapping off branches--and
then lurched out over the mesa to the east. Here, as if in glee over
their escape from city confines, they redoubled in fury and tore down to
earth--and enveloped Felipe Montoya, a young and good-looking Mexican,
and his team of scrawny horses plodding in a lumber rigging, all in a
stinging swirl.
"Haya!" cried Felipe, as the first of the sand-laden winds struck him,
"Chivos--chivos!" And he shot out his whip, gave the lash a twist over
the off mare, and brought it down with a resounding thwack. "R-run!" he
snarled, and again brought the whip down upon the emaciated mare. "You
joost natural lazy! Thees storm--we--we get-tin'--" His voice was
carried away on the swirling winds.
But the horses seemed not to hear the man; nor, in the case of the off
mare, to feel the bite of his lash. They continued to plod along the
beaten trail, heads drooping, ears flopping, hoofs scuffling
disconsolately. Felipe, accompanying each outburst with a mighty swing
of his whip, swore and pleaded and objurgated and threatened in turn.
But all to no avail. The horses held stolidly to their gait,
plodding--even, after a time, dropping into slower movement. Whereat
Felipe, abandoning all hope, flung down reins and whip, and leaped off
the reach of the rigging. Prompt with the loosened lines the team came
to a full stop; and Felipe, snatching up a blanket, covered his head and
shoulders with it and squatted in the scant protection of a forward
wheel.
The storm whipped and howled past. Felipe listened, noting each change
in its velocity as told by the sound of raging gusts outside, himself
raging. Once he lifted a corner of the blanket and peered out--only to
suffer the sting of a thousand needles. Again, he hunched his shoulders
guardedly and endeavored to roll a cigarette; but the tempestuous blasts
discouraged this also, and with a curse he dashed the tobacco from him.
After that he remained still, listening, until he heard an agreeable
change outside. The screeching sank to a crooning; the crooning dropped
to a low, musical sigh. Flinging off the blanket, he rose and swept the
desert with eyes sand-filled and blinking.
The last of the yellow winds was eddying slowly past. All about him the
air, thinning rapidly, pulsated in the sun's rays, which, beaming mildly
down upon the desert, were spreading everywhere in glorious sheen. To
the east, the mountains, stepping forth in the clearing atmosphere, lay
revealed in a warmth of soft purple; while the slopes to the west, over
which the storm had broken, shone in a wealth of dazzling yellow-white
light--sunbeams scintillating off myriads of tiny sand-cubes. The desert
was itself again--bright, resplendent-gripped in the clutch of solitude.
Felipe tossed his blanket back upon the reach of the rigging. Then he
caught up reins and whip, ready to go on. As he did so he paused in
dismay.
For one of the mares was down! It was the off mare, the slower and the
older mare of the two. She was lying prone and she was breathing
heavily. Covered as she was with a thin layer of fine sand, and tightly
girdled with chaotic harness straps, she was a spectacle of abject
misery.
But Felipe did not see this. All he saw, in the blinding rage which
suddenly possessed him, was a horse down, unready for duty, and beside
her a horse standing, ready for duty, but restrained by the other.
Stringing out a volley of oaths, he stepped to the side of the mare and
jerked at her head, but she refused stubbornly to get up on her feet.
Gripped in dismay deeper than at first, Felipe fell back in mechanical
resignation.
Was the mare dying? he asked himself. He could ill afford to lose a
mare. Horses cost seven and eight dollars, and he did not possess so
much money. Indeed, all the money he had in the world was three dollars,
received for this last load of wood in town. So, what to do! Cursing the
mare had not helped matters; nor could he accuse the storm, for there
had been other storms, many of them, and each had she successfully
weathered--been ready, with its passing, to go on! But not so this one!
She--Huh? Could it be possible? Ah!
He looked at the mare with new interest. And the longer he gazed the
more his anger subsided, became finally downright compassion. For he was
reviewing a something he had contemplated at odd times for weeks with
many misgivings and tenacious unbeliefs. Never had he understood it!
Never would he understand that thing! So why lose time in an effort to
understand it now?
Dropping to his knees, he fell to work with feverish haste unbuckling
straps and bands. With the harness loose, he dragged it off and tossed
it to one side. Then, still moving feverishly, he led the mate to the
mare off the trail, turned to the wagon with bracing shoulder, backed it
clear of the prostrate animal, and swung it out of the way of future
passing vehicles. It was sweltering work. When it was done, with the
sun, risen to its fierce zenith, beating down upon him mercilessly, he
strode off the trail, blowing and perspiring, and flung himself down in
the baking sand, where, though irritated by particles of sand which had
sifted down close inside his shirt, he nevertheless gave himself over to
sober reflections.
He was stalled till the next morning--he knew that. And he was without
food-supplies to carry him over. And he was ten miles on the one hand,
and five up-canyon miles on the other, from all source of supplies. But
against these unpleasant facts there stood many pleasant facts--he was
on the return leg of his journey, his wagon was empty, and he had in his
possession three dollars. Then, too, there was another pleasant fact.
The trip as a trip had been unusual; never before had he, or any one
else, made it under two days--one for loading and driving into town, and
a second for getting rid of the wood and making the return. Yet he
himself had been out now only the one day, and he was on his way home.
He had whipped and crowded his horses since midnight to just this end.
Yet was he not stalled now till morning? And would not this delay set
him back the one day he had gained over his fellow-townsmen? And would
not these same fellow-townsmen rejoice in this opportunity to overtake
him--worse, to leave him behind? They would!
"Oh, well," he concluded, philosophically, stretching out upon his back
and drawing his worn and ragged sombrero over his eyes, "soon is comin'
a _potrillo_." With this he deliberately courted slumber.
Out of the stillness rattled a wagon. Like Felipe's, it was a lumber
rigging, and the driver, a fat Mexican with beady eyes, pulled up his
horses and gazed at the disorder. It was but a perfunctory gaze,
however, and revealed to him nothing of the true situation. All he saw
was that Felipe was drunk and asleep, and that before dropping beside
the trail he had had time, and perhaps just enough wit, to unhitch one
horse. The other, true to instinct and the law of her underfed and
overworked kind, had lain down. With this conclusion, and out of sheer
exuberance of alcoholic spirits, he decided to awaken Felipe. And this
he did--in true Mexican fashion. With a curse of but five words--words
of great scope and finest selection, however--he mercilessly raked
Felipe's ancestors for five generations back; he objurgated Felipe's
holdings--chickens, adobe house, money, burro, horses, pigs. He closed,
snarling not obscurely at Felipe the man and at any progeny of his which
might appear in the future. Then he dropped his reins and sprang off the
reach of his rigging.
Felipe was duly awakened. He gained his feet slowly.
"You know me, eh?" he retorted, advancing toward the other. "All
right--_gracios_!" And by way of coals of fire he proffered the
fellow-townsman papers and tobacco.
The new-comer revealed surprise, not alone at Felipe's sobriety, though
this was startling in view of the disorder in the trail, but also at the
proffer of cigarette material. And he was about to speak when Felipe
interrupted him.
"You haf t'ink I'm drunk, eh, Franke?" he said. "Sure! Why not?" And he
waved his hand in the direction of the trail. Then, after the other had
rolled a cigarette and returned the sack and papers, he laid a firm hand
upon the man's shoulder. "You coom look," he invited. "You tell me what
you t'ink thees!"
They walked to the mare, and Franke gazed a long moment in silence.
Felipe stood beside him, eying him sharply, hoping for an expression of
approval--even of congratulation. In this he was doomed to
disappointment, for the other continued silent, and in silence finally
turned back, his whole attitude that of one who saw nothing in the
spectacle worthy of comment. Felipe followed him, nettled, and sat down
and himself rolled a cigarette. As he sat smoking it the other seated
himself beside him, and presently touched him on the arm and began to
speak. Felipe listened, with now and again a nod of approval, and, when
the _compadre_ was finished, accepted the brilliant proposition.
"A bet, eh?" he exclaimed. "All right!" And he produced his sheepskin
pouch and dumped out his three dollars. "All right! I bet you feety
cents, Franke, thot eet don' be!"
Frank looked his disdain at the amount offered. Also, his eyes blazed
and his round face reddened. He shoved his hand into his overalls,
brought forth a silver dollar, and tossed it down in the sand.
"A bet!" he yelled. "Mek eet a bet! A dolar!" Then he narrowed his eyes
in the direction of the mare. "Mek eet a good bet! You have chonce to
win, too, Felipe--you know!"
Felipe did not respond immediately. Money was his all-absorbing
difficulty. Never plentiful with him, it was less than ever plentiful
now, and was wholly represented in the three dollars before him. A sum
little enough in fact, it dwindled rapidly as he recalled one by one his
numerous debts. For he owed much money. He owed for food in the
settlement store; he owed for clothing he had bought in town; and he
owed innumerable gambling debts--big sums, sums mounting to heights he
dared not contemplate. And all he had to his name was the three dollars
lying so peacefully before him, with the speculative Franke hovering
over them like a fat buzzard over a dead coyote. What to do! He could
not decide. He had ways for this money, other than paying on his debts
or investing in a gambling proposition. There was to be a _baile_
soon, and he must buy for Margherita (providing her father, a caustic
_hombre_, bitter against all wood-haulers, permitted him the girl's
society) peanuts in the dance-hall and candy outside the dance-hall. The
candy must be bought in the general store, where, because of his many
debts, he must pay cash now--always cash! So what to do! All these
things meant money. And money, as he well understood, was a thing hard
to get. Yet here was a chance, as Franke had generously indicated, for
him to win some money. But, against this chance for him to win some
money was the chance also, as conveyed inversely by Franke, of his
losing some money--money he could ill afford to lose.
"You afraid?" suddenly cut in Franke, nastily, upon these reflections.
"I don' see you do soomt'ing!"
Which decided Felipe for all time. "Afraid?" he echoed, disdainfully.
"Sure! But not for myself! You don' have mooch money to lose! But I mek
eet a bet--a good bet! I bet you two dolars thot eet--thot eet don' be!"
It was now the other who hesitated. But he did not hesitate for long.
Evidently the spirit of the gambler was more deeply rooted in him than
it was in Felipe, for, after gazing out in the trail a moment, then
eying Felipe another moment, both speculatively, he extracted from his
pockets two more silver dollars and tossed them down with the others.
Then he fixed Felipe with a malignant stare.
"I bet you t'ree dolars thot eet cooms what I haf say!"
Felipe laughed. "All right," he agreed, readily. "Why not?" He heaped
the money under a stone, sank over upon his back with an affected yawn,
drew his hat over his eyes, and lay still. "We go to sleep now, Franke,"
he proposed. "Eet's long time--I haf t'ink."
Soon both were snoring.
Out in the trail hung the quiet of a sick-room. The long afternoon
waned. Once a wagon appeared from the direction of town, but the driver,
evidently grasping the true situation, turned out and around the mare in
respectful silence. Another time a single horseman, riding from the
mountains, cantered upon the scene; but this man, also with a look of
understanding, turned out and around the mare in careful regard for her
condition. Then came darkness. Shadows crept in from nowhere, stealing
over the desert more and more darkly, while, with their coming, birds of
the air, seeking safe place for night rest, flitted about in nervous
uncertainty. And suddenly in the gathering dusk rose the long-drawn howl
of a coyote, lifting into the stillness a lugubrious note of appeal.
Then, close upon the echo of this, rose another appeal in the trail
close by, the shrill nicker of the mate to the mare.
It awoke Felipe. He sat up quickly, rubbed his eyes dazedly, and peered
out with increasing understanding. Then he sprang to his feet.
"Coom!" he called, kicking the other. "We go now--see who is winnin'
thot bet!" And he started hurriedly forward.
But the other checked him. "Wait!" he snapped, rising. "You wait! You in
too mooch hurry! You coom back--I have soomt'ing!"
Felipe turned back, wondering. The other nervously produced material for
a cigarette. Then he cleared his throat with needless protraction.
"Felipe," he began, evidently laboring under excitement, "I mek eet a
_bet_ now! I bet you," he went on, his voice trembling with
fervor--"I bet you my wagon, thee horses--thee whole
shutting-match--against thot wagon and horses yours, and thee
harness--thee whole damned shutting-match--thot I haf win!" He proceeded
to finish his cigarette.
Felipe stared at him hard. Surely his ears had deceived him! If they had
not deceived him, if, for a fact, the _hombre_ had expressed a
willingness to bet all he had on the outcome of this thing, then Franke,
fellow-townsman, _compadre_, brother-wood-hauler, was crazy! But he
determined to find out.
"What you said, Franke?" he asked, peering into the glowing eyes of the
other. "Say thot again, _hombre_!"
"I haf say," repeated the other, with lingering emphasis upon each
word--"I haf say I bet you everyt'ing--wagon, harness,
_caballos_--everyt'ing!--against thot wagon, harness,
_caballos_ yours--everyt'ing--thee whole shutting-match--thot I haf
win thee bet!"
Again Felipe lowered his eyes. But now to consider suspicions. He had
heard rightly; Franke really wanted to bet all he had. But he could not
but wonder whether Franke, by any possible chance, knew in advance the
outcome of the affair in the trail. He had heard of such things, though
never had he believed them possible. Yet he found himself troubled with
insistent reminder that Franke had suggested this whole thing. Then
suddenly he was gripped in another unwelcome thought. Could it be
possible that this scheming _hombre_, awaking at a time when he
himself was soundest asleep, had gone out into the trail on tiptoe for
advance information? It was possible. Why not? But that was not the
point exactly. The point was, had he done it? Had this buzzard circled
out into the trail while he himself was asleep? He did not know, and he
could not decide! For the third time in ten hours, though puzzled and
groping, trembling between gain and loss, he plunged on the gambler's
chance.
"All right!" he agreed, tensely. "I take thot bet! I bet you thees
wagon, thees _caballos_, thees harness--everyt'ing--against
everyt'ing yours--wagon, horses, harness--everyt'ing! Wait!" he
thundered, for the other now was striding toward the mare. "Wait! You in
too mooch hurry yourself now!" Then, as the other returned: "Is eet a
bet? Is eet a bet?"
The fellow-townsman nodded. Whereat Felipe nodded approval of the nod,
and stepped out into the trail, followed by the other.
It was night, and quite a dark night. Stretching away to east and west,
the dimly outlined trail was lost abruptly in engulfing darkness; while,
overhead, a starless sky, low and somber and frowning, pressed close.
But, dark though the night was, it did not wholly conceal the outlines
of the mare. She was standing as they approached, mildly encouraging a
tiny something beside her, a wisp of life, her baby, who was struggling
to insure continued existence. And it was this second outline, not the
other and larger outline, that held the breathless attention of the men.
Nervously Felipe struck a match. As it flared up he stepped close,
followed by the other, and there was a moment of tense silence. Then the
match went out and Felipe straightened up.
"Franke," he burst out, "I haf win thee bet! Eet is not a mare; eet is a
li'l' horse!" He struck his _compadre_ a resounding blow on the
back. "I am mooch sorry, Franke," he declared--"not!" He turned back to
the faint outline of the colt. "Thees _potrillo_," he observed,
"he's bringin' me mooch good luck! He's--" He suddenly interrupted
himself, aware that the other was striding away. "Where you go now,
Franke?" he asked, and then, quick to sense approaching trouble: "Never
mind thee big bet, Franke! You can pay me ten dolars soom time! All
right?"
There was painful silence.
"All right!" came the reply, finally, through the darkness.
Then Felipe heard a lumber rigging go rattling off in the direction of
the canyon, and, suddenly remembering the money underneath the stone,
hurried off the trail in a spasm of alarm. He knelt in the sand and
struck a match.
The money had disappeared.