A NEW HOME
With the beginning of the forward movement across the railroad the colt,
ears cocked and eyes alert, moved across also. Close about him stepped
other horses, and over and around him surged a low murmuring,
occasionally broken by the crack of a whip. Yet these sounds did not
seem to disturb him. He trotted along, crossing the tracks, and when on
the opposite side set out straight down the avenue. The avenue was
broad, and in this widening area the congestion rapidly thinned, and
soon the colt was quite alone in the open. But he continued forward,
seeming not to miss his mother, until there suddenly loomed up beside
him a very fat and very matronly appearing horse. Then he hesitated,
turning apprehensive eyes upon her. But not for long. Evidently
accepting this horse as his mother, he fell in close beside her and
trotted along again in perfect composure.
Behind this horse was a phaeton, and in the phaeton sat two persons.
They were widely different in age. One was an elderly man, broad of
shoulders and with a ruddy face faintly threaded with purple; the other
was a young girl, not more than seventeen, his daughter, with a face
sweet and alert, and a mass of chestnut hair--all imparting a certain
esthetic beauty. Like the man, the girl was ruddy of complexion, though
hers was the bloom of youth, while his was toll taken from suns and
winds of the desert. The girl was the first to discover the colt.
"Daddy!" she exclaimed, placing a restraining hand upon the other.
"Whose beautiful colt is that?"
The Judge pulled down his horse and leaned far out over the side. "Why,
I don't know, dear!" he replied, after a moment, then turned his eyes to
the rear. "He must belong with some team in that crush."
The girl regarded the colt with increasing rapture. "Isn't he a perfect
dear!" she went on. "Look at him, daddy!" she suddenly urged,
delightedly. "He's dying to know why we stopped!" Which, indeed, the
colt looked to be, since he had come to a stop with the mare and now was
regarding them curiously. "I'd love to pet him!"
The Judge frowned. "We're late for luncheon," he declared, and again
gazed to the rear. "We'd better take him along with us out to the ranch.
To-morrow I'll advertise him in the papers." And he shook up the mare.
"We'd better go along, Helen."
"Just one minute, daddy!" persisted the girl, gathering up her white
skirts and, as the Judge pulled down, leaping lightly out of the
phaeton. "I've simply _got_ to pet him!" She cautiously approached
the colt.
He permitted her this approach. Nor did he shy at her outstretched hand.
Under her gentle caresses he stood very still, and when she stooped
before him, as she did presently, bringing her eyes upon a level with
his own, he gazed into them very frankly and earnestly, as if gauging
this person, as he had seemed to tabulate all other things, some day to
make good use of his knowledge. After a time the girl spoke.
"I wish I could keep you always," she said, poutingly. "You look so nice
and babyish!" But she knew that she could not keep him, and after a time
she stood up again and sighed, and fell to stroking him thoughtfully.
"I'll have you to-day, anyway," she declared, finally, with promise of
enjoyment in her voice, as one who meant to make the most of it. Then
she got back into the phaeton.
The Judge started up the horse again. They continued through the town,
and when on its northwestern outskirts turned to the right along a trail
that paralleled the river. The trail ran north and south, and on either
side of it, sometimes shielding a secluded ranch, always forming an
agreeable oasis in the flat brown of the country, rose an occasional
clump of cottonwoods. The ranch-houses were infrequent, however; all of
them were plentifully supplied with water by giant windmills which
clacked and creaked above the trees in the high-noon breeze. To the
left, across the river, back from the long, slow rise of sand from the
water's edge, rose five blunt heights like craters long extinct; while
above these, arching across the heavens in spotless sheen, curved the
turquoise dome of a southwestern midday sky, flooding the dust and dunes
below in throbbing heat-rays. It was God's own section of earth, and not
the least beautiful of its vistas, looming now steadily ahead on their
right, was the place belonging to Judge Richards. House and outhouses
white, and just now aglint in the white light of the sun, the whole
ranch presented the appearance of diamonds nestling in a bed of
emerald-green velvet. Turning off at this ranch, the Judge tossed the
reins to a waiting Mexican.
Helen was out of the phaeton like a flash. Carefully guiding the colt
around the house and across a _patio_, she turned him loose into a
spacious corral. Then she fell to watching him, and she continued to
watch him until a voice from the house, that of an aged Mexican woman
who presided over the kitchen, warned her that dinner was waiting.
Reluctantly hugging the colt--hugging him almost savagely in her sudden
affection for him--she then turned to leave, but not without a word of
explanation.
"I must leave you now, honey!" she said, much as a child would take
leave of her doll. "But I sha'n't be away from you long, and when I come
back I'll see what I can do about feeding you!"
The colt stood for a time, peering between the corral boards after her.
Then he set out upon a round of investigation. He moved slowly along the
inside of the fence, seeming to approve its whitewashed cleanliness,
until, turning in a corner, he stood before the stable door. Here he
paused a moment, gazing into the semi-gloom, then sprang up the one
step. Inside, he stood another moment, sweeping eyes down past the
stalls, and finally set out and made his way to the far end. In the
stall next the last stood a brown saddle-horse, and in the last stall
the matronly horse he had followed out from town. But he showed no
interest in these, bestowing upon each merely a passing glance. Then,
discovering that the flies bothered him here more than in the corral, he
walked back to the door and out into the sunlight again. In the corral
he took up his motionless stand in the corner nearest the house.
He did not stand thus for long. He soon revealed grave uneasiness. It
was due to a familiar gnawing inside. He knew the relief for this, and
promptly set out in search of his mother. He hurried back along the
fence, gained the door of the stable, and stepped into the stable, this
time upon urgent business. He trotted down past the stalls to the family
horse, and without hesitation stepped in alongside of her. Directly
there was a shrill nicker, a lightning flash of heels, and the colt lay
sprawling on the stable floor.
Never was there a colt more astonished than this one. Dazed, trembling,
he regained his feet and looked at the mare, looked hard. Then casting
solicitous eyes in the direction of the saddle-horse, he stepped in
alongside. But here he met with even more painful objections. The horse
reached around and bit him sharply in the neck. It hurt, hurt awfully,
but he persisted, only to receive another sharp bite, this time more
savage. Sounding a baby whimper of despair, he ran back to the door and
out into the motherless corral.
He made for the corner nearest the house. But he did not stand still. He
cocked his ears, pawed the ground, turned again and again, swallowed
frequently. And presently he set out once more in search of his mother;
though this time he wisely kept out of the stable. He held close to the
fence, following it around and around, pausing now and again with eyes
strained between the boards. But he could not find his mother. Finally,
resorting to the one effort left to him that might bring result, he
flung up his little head and sounded a piteous call--not once, but many
times.
"Aunty," declared the girl, rushing into the genial presence of the
Mexican cook, "what shall I do about that colt? He must be hungry!"
The old woman nodded and smiled knowingly. Then she stepped into the
pantry. She filled a long-necked bottle with milk and sugar and a dash
of lime-water, and, placing the bottle in the girl's hands, shoved her
gently out the door and into the _patio_.
Racing across to the corral, Helen reached the colt with much-needed
aid. He closed upon the bottle with an eagerness that seemed to tell he
had known no other method of feeding. Also, he clung to it till the last
drop was gone, which caused Helen to wonder when last the colt had fed.
Then, as if by way of reward for this kindly attention, he tossed his
head suddenly, striking the bottle out of her hands. This was play; and
Helen, girlishly delighted, sprang toward him. He leaped away, however,
and, coming to a stand at a safe distance, wriggled his ears at her
mischievously. She sprang toward him again; but again he darted away.
Whereupon she raced after him, pursuing him around the inclosure, the
colt frisking before her, kicking up his heels and nickering shrilly,
until, through breathlessness, she was forced to stop. Then the colt
stopped, and after a time, having regarded her steadfastly, invitingly,
he seemed to understand, for he quietly approached her. As he came close
she stooped before him.
"Honey dear," she began, eyes on a level with his own, "they have
telephoned the city officials, and your case will be advertised
to-morrow in the papers. But I do wish that I could keep you." She
peered into his slow-blinking eyes thoughtfully. "Brownie--my
saddle-horse--is all stable-ridden, and I need a good saddler. And some
day you would be grown, and I could--could take lots of comfort with
you." She was silent. "Anyway," she concluded, rising and stroking him
absently, "we'll see. Though I hope--and I know it isn't a bit
right--that nothing comes of the advertisement; or, if something does
come of it, that your rightful owner will prove willing to sell you
after a time." With this she picked up the bottle and left him.
And nothing did come of the advertisement. Felipe did not read the
papers, and his knowledge of city affairs was such that he did not set
up intelligent quest for the colt.
So the colt remained in the Richards' corral. Regularly two and three
times a day the girl came to feed him, and regularly as his reward each
time he bunted the bottle out of her hand afterward. Also, between meals
she spent much time in his society, and on these occasions relieved the
tedium of his diet with loaf sugar, and, after a while, quartered
apples. For these sweets he soon developed a passion, and he would watch
her comings with a feverish anxiety that always brought a smile to her
ready lips. And thus began, and thus went on, their friendship, a
friendship that with the passing months ripened into strongest
attachment, but which presently was to be interrupted for a long time.
Hint of this came to him gradually. From spending long periods with him
every day his mistress, after each feeding now, took to hurrying away
from him. Sometimes, so great was her haste to get back to the house,
she actually ran out of the corral. It worried him, and he would follow
her to the gate, and there stand with nose between the boards and eyes
turned after her, whimpering softly. And finally, with his bottle
displaced by more solid food, and the visits of his mistress becoming
less frequent, he awoke to certain mysterious arrivals and departures in
a buggy of a sharp-eyed woman all in black, and he came to feel, by
reason of his super-animal instinct, that something of a very grave
nature was about to happen to him. Then one morning late in August he
experienced that which made his fears positive convictions, though
precisely what it was he did not immediately know.
His mistress stepped into the corral with her usual briskness, and,
walking deliberately past him, turned up an empty box in a far corner
and sat down upon it, and called to him. From the instant of her
entrance he had held himself back, but when she called him he rushed
eagerly to her side. She placed her arms around his neck, drew his head
down into her lap, and proceeded to unfold a story--later, tearful.
"It's all settled," she began, with a restful sigh. "We have discussed
it for weeks, and I've had a dreadful time of it, and aunty--my Mexican
aunty, you know--and my other aunty, my regular aunty--I have no
mother--and everybody--got so excited I didn't really know them for my
own, and daddy flared up a little, and--and--" She paused and sighed
again. "But finally they let me have my own way about it--though daddy
called it 'infant tommyrot'--and so here it is!" She tilted up his head
and looked into his eyes. "You, sir," she then went on--"you, sir, from
this day and date--I reckon that is how daddy would say it--you, sir,
from this day and date shall be known as Pat. Your name, sir, is
Pat--P-a-t--Pat! I don't know whether you like it or not, of course! But
I do know that I like it, and under the circumstances I reckon that's
all that is necessary." Then came the tears. "But that isn't all, Pat
dear," she went on, tenderly. "I have something else to tell you, though
it hurts dreadfully for me to do it. But--but I'm going away to school.
I'm going East, to be gone a long time. I want to go, though," she
added, gazing soberly into his eyes; "yet I am afraid to leave you alone
with Miguel. Miguel doesn't like to have you around, and I know it, and
I am afraid he will be cruel to you. But--but I've got to go now. The
dressmaker has been coming for over a month; and--and I'm not even
coming home for vacation. I am to visit relatives, or something, in New
York--or somewhere--and the whole thing is arranged. But I--I don't seem
to want--to--to go away now!" Which was where the tears fell. "If
things--things could only be--be put off! But I--I know they can't!" She
was silent, silent a long time, gazing off toward the distant mountains
through tear-bedimmed eyes. "But when I do come back," she concluded,
finally, brightening, "you will have grown to a great size, Pat dear,
and then we can go up on the mesa and ride and ride. Can't we?" And she
hugged him convulsively. "It will be glorious. Won't it?"
He didn't exactly say. His interest was elsewhere, and, resisting her
hugging, he began to nuzzle her hands for sweets. Whereupon she burst
into laughter and forcibly hugged him again.
"I forgot," she declared, regretfully. "You shall have them,
though--right away!" Then she arose and left him--left him a very much
mystified colt. But when she returned with what he sought he looked his
delight, and closed over the sweets with an eagerness that forced her
into sober reflection. "Pat," she said, after a time, "I don't think you
care one single bit for me! All you care about, I'll bet, is what I
bring you to eat!" Then she began to stroke him. "Just the same," she
concluded, after a while, tenderly, "you're the dearest colt that ever
lived!" She dallied with him a moment longer, then abruptly left him,
running back to the house.
The days which followed, however, were full of delight for him. Now that
the mysterious activity in the house was over with, his mistress began
to visit him again with more than frequent regularity. And with each
visit she would remain with him a long time, caressing him, talking to
him, as had been her wont in the earlier days of their friendship. But
as against those earlier days he had changed. Possibly this was due to
her absence. Instead of frisking about the inclosure now, as he had used
to frisk--whirling madly from her in play--he would remain very still
during her visits, standing motionless under her caresses and love-talk.
Also, when she took herself off each time, instead of hurrying
frantically after her to the gate, he would walk slowly, even sedately,
into his corner, the one nearest the house, and there watch her soberly
till she disappeared indoors. Then--further evidence of the change that
had come upon him--he would lie down in the warm sunlight and there
fight flies, although before he had been given to worrying the family
horse or irritating the brown saddler--all with nervous playfulness.
And he was dozing in his corner that morning when his mistress came
fluttering to him to say good-by. He slowly rose to his feet and blinked
curiously at her.
"Pat dear," she exclaimed, breathlessly, "I'm going now!" She flung her
arms around his neck, held him tightly to her a moment, then stepped
back. "You--you must be good while--while I'm gone!" And dashing away a
persistent tear, she then hurriedly left him, speeding across the
_patio_ and stepping into the waiting phaeton.
He watched the vehicle roll out into the trail. And though he did not
understand, though the seriousness of it all was denied him, he
nevertheless remained close to the fence a long time; long after the
phaeton had passed from view, long after the sound of the mare's
paddling feet had died away, he stood there, ears cocked, eyes wide,
tail motionless, in an attitude of receptivity, spiritual absorption, as
one flicked with unwelcome premonitions.