THE FIRST GREAT LESSON
Helen spent much time in the society of the horse. Aside from attending
to his wants, such as food and water, she more than once took comb and
brush in hand and gave him a thorough cleaning. This invariably brought
a grin to the ugly features of Miguel, and when the Judge was present,
which was not often, a smile of delight mixed with derision to his ruddy
features. But never would Helen permit them to discourage her. She would
brush and curry Pat till his coat shone like new-mined coal, and then,
after surveying the satiny sheen critically, she would comb out his long
tail, sometimes braid his glossy mane, and, after that, scour his hoofs
till they were as clean and fresh as the rest of him. In her pride for
him she liked to do these things, and often regretted that he did not
require her attention more than he did.
One day, with characteristic suddenness, she decided to have him broken
to saddle. Therefore, next morning, three horse-breakers--one
professional and two assistants--armed with ropes and saddles, appeared
in the corral. Pat was sunning himself in his corner, and at their
entrance only cocked his ears and blinked his eyes lazily. Outside the
inclosure Helen, together with a scattering of spectators, attracted by
the word of this treat in town, stood quietly expectant. One of the
assistants, a raw-boned individual with hairy wrists, drove Pat out of
his corner, while the professional, a large man of quiet demeanor,
turned to Miguel, who was standing in the stable door, and put a
question to him. Miguel, out of his own experience, warned them against
the horse. Whereupon the large man neatly roped Pat, settling the noose
skilfully around the horse's neck.
Instantly Pat was a quivering bundle of nerves. Bracing his legs, he
drew back on the rope. But the man held to it grimly. The man did more.
He suddenly raced across the inclosure, gave the rope a deft twist, and
followed the twist with a vigorous jerk. Pat plunged heavily to the
ground.
He lay dazed, breathing laboriously, till the rope slackened. Then he
started to rise. But he only gained his fore legs. The second assistant,
a slender youth, resisted his efforts, forcing Pat's head back by
sitting upon it. Pat twisted and writhed to throw him off. But the man
stayed with him, and finally had him prone to earth again. Whereupon Pat
experienced the chagrin of his first defeat. Yet he could see. Upon the
retina of each eye danced a picture. It was that of his mistress,
surrounded by open-mouthed spectators, outside the fence, gazing down
upon him with seeming approval. This once, but only this once, he felt
dislike for her.
One of the men approached with a halter. Pat had seen these things in
the stable, and he instinctively knew what they were for. But he would
not accept this one. Embittered by his fall, chafing under the weight
upon his head, he struggled so successfully that he finally dislodged
the man. Then he sprang to his feet again, and, trembling in every part,
glared savagely at his tormentors.
"Better give him a twist," quietly suggested the professional.
Pat heard the remark. But he did not understand, and so remained quiet.
Presently he felt a light hand creeping up along his neck, pausing,
patting him, creeping along farther, pausing and patting him again. It
was not unpleasant, and under the soothing influence he came to believe
that his tormentors had experienced a change of attitude. But he was
mistaken. Suddenly his ear was gripped as in a vise. Also, it was
twisted sharply, once, twice, and then held in a relentless grip. He
stood still as death. Up and down his spine, from his ear to his tail,
coursed shrieking pain, hacking him like the agony of a thousand
twisting knives. Under the terror of it he stopped breathing--stopped
till he must breathe or swoon. Then he did take air, in short, faint
gasps, but each gasp at terrible cost. And standing thus, fearing to
move, he accepted the halter. He could do naught else.
The raw-boned assistant turned to Helen apologetically. "Lively hoss,
Miss Richards," he declared. "Reckon we're in for a little exercise."
And he grinned.
Anxiously Helen mounted the fence, standing upon a lower board. "You
won't hurt him, I hope--that is, needlessly! I don't want that, you
know!" And she gazed at Pat with pitiful eyes.
The other laughed. "No; 'tain't that," he hastened to reassure her.
"He's lively--that's all."
The professional looked Pat over speculatively, and again made a
suggestion. "Better blindfold him, Larry," he said.
Pat heard this as he had heard the other. And because he was coming to
know this man's voice, and to interpret it correctly, despite the agony
it cost him he went on his guard, spreading and bracing his legs as
against shock. He did not receive shock, however. Merely a piece of soft
flannel was tucked gently under his halter and drawn carefully over his
eyes. Against the soft pressure of it he closed his eyes. As he did so
the hand released his ear. Conscious of sweet relief from the dread pain
now, he opened his eyes again, only to discover that he could not see!
Here was new distress! He did not understand it. He knew that his eyes
were open; knew that it was the time of sunshine; knew with grim
certainty that he was awake. Yet he could not see! He flung up his head;
tossed it across and back; flung it down again. Yet the unnatural
darkness! He took to pawing the ground. He began to recall his
surroundings before this strange darkness had descended upon him--the
girl outside the fence, the spectators upon the fence, the tormentors
inside the fence, the glorious sunlight, the distant shimmering
mountains, the stable and outhouses and cottage. But all were gone from
him now. Everything was black with the blackness of night! Again he
tossed his head--and again and again. But still the darkness! He was
afraid.
Here came a change. Across his vision leaped sudden flashing lights,
myriads of them, dancing strangely before him. Gripped in new fear, he
watched them closely, saw them hurry, pause, hurry again, all in
dazzling array. They kept it up. Breathlessly he saw them dart to and
fro, speed near, whirl and twist, until out of sheer distress he closed
his eyes for relief. But he got no relief. He saw the lights as before,
saw them dancing and pirouetting before his eyes, and suddenly whisk
away, as though satiated with their fiendishness. But they left him limp
and faint and with a throbbing pain in his head. Again he stamped the
earth and shook his head. But the darkness clung. He could not throw off
the thing before his eyes. Yet he persisted. He tossed his head until
dizziness seized him. Then he stopped all effort and relaxed. His head
began to droop; he let it droop, low and lower, until he smelled the
earth. This aroused him. His spirit of fight rose again. He jerked up
his head, sounded a defiant outcry, stiffened his legs for action. This
for a moment only, for he did not act--somehow felt it was not yet time.
But he gave way to a grim restlessness. He took to rocking like a
chained elephant--from right hind to left fore, from left hind to right
fore legs--changing, always changing.
"Well, old son," came a voice on his chaotic thoughts, "we've just found
a bridle that'll suit. But it took us a mean long time to do it, didn't
it?"
Pat stopped swaying. He stopped suddenly, as one checked by a mighty
force. And so he was. For he knew now that the time had come. Here was
his tormentor! Here was one of them within reach! The time had come to
strike, to strike this man, to crush him to earth, to kill the cause of
his suffering--
"Here, hoss," went on the voice, soothingly, the while Pat smelled a
something of the stable underneath his nose. "Go to it! It's right
harmless--now, ain't it?" Which it seemed to be from the smell.
But Pat struck--reared with the speed of lightning and struck.
The blow was unexpected. It sent the man spinning, whirling across the
inclosure. He dropped into a corner like a log.
There was a tense moment. Spectators sat dazed; horsemen stood rigid;
the girl screamed. Then the large man ran to the prostrate form. He bent
over, gazed briefly, straightened up with a reassuring smile. Presently
the assistant arose and, rubbing his shoulder ruefully, caught up the
fallen bridle. Soon the work of breaking was resumed as though nothing
had happened.
Pat was standing motionless. But he was keenly alert. He heard the man
draw near, felt the hand creeping along his neck, but he had learned his
lesson well. He reared and struck again--this time only empty air. Yet,
as he returned to earth, almost before he touched ground, the hand was
around his ear, another was around his other ear, he was feeling the
dread twist again, twofold. Every twitch of muscle, every least gasp for
air, sent excruciating pain throughout the ends of him. Fearing to move,
yet clamoring for breath, he slowly opened his mouth.
Which was what they wanted, evidently. He felt a cold something suddenly
thrust between his teeth. It was hard as well as cold. He tasted it,
rolled it over his tongue, and found it not painful. Then came something
else. His head was being hurriedly fitted with a leathery contrivance.
But neither was this painful, save only as it touched his twisted ears,
and he therefore experienced no increasing alarm. Then, with this
adjusted, he was introduced to something else--a something held close
under his nose. He smelled this carefully; noted that it reeked with
odors of the stable; smelled it again. Next he knew it was being placed
gently upon his back. It was soft, and quite hairy, and though it
irritated him a little, he accepted it without loss of composure. But
when it was followed, as it was directly, by a heavier something, a
something fitting his back snug and hard, he instantly determined to
rebel, despite his twisted ears. But he could not withstand the
increased pain, and he permitted the thing to be made secure with straps
around his body. And now came a heavier something, a free and loose
weight, something with spring and give to it, and which had flung up
from the ground. And suddenly, flaying his pained senses, understanding
flashed upon him. This was a man. There was a tormentor upon his back,
gripping the thing in his mouth, holding him solidly to the ground. He--
"Go!"
It was a word of command. With the word Pat felt his ears released. As
he thrilled with relief the cloth was jerked off his eyes. For a time
the fierce daylight blinded him. Then the pupils of his eyes contracted
and all objects stood out clearly again--the men in the corral, the
spectators on the fence, his mistress outside the fence. Also he saw the
sunlit stable, and Miguel in the doorway, and the house in the trees.
All had come back to him, and he stood gazing about him blinkingly,
trying to understand, conscious of straps binding his body and
restraining his breathing.
Then suddenly he understood--remembered--remembered that he had been
abused, had been tortured as never before. And he awoke to the fact that
he was still being tortured. There was this thing in his mouth. There
was this contraption on his head. There was that thing on his back, and
the weight upon the thing. Also, there was that binding of his belly,
and the irritation due to the prickly something pressing his back and
sides. All these facts stung him, and under the whip of them he awoke to
a mighty urging within. It was his fighting spirit rekindling--the thing
that was his birthright, the thing come down to him from his ancestors,
the thing that told him to rebel against the unnatural. And heeding
this, voice, heeding it because he knew no other, he decided to give
decisive battle.
In a frenzy of effort he suddenly reared. He pirouetted on hind legs;
pawed the air with fore legs; lost his balance. Failing to recover
himself, he went over backward. He struck the earth resoundingly, but he
realized that the weight was gone, and he felt a faint glow of victory!
"Wow!" yelled a spectator, excitedly.
Pat heard this and hastily regained his feet. And because he was
uncertain of his next move he remained motionless. This was a mistake,
as he soon discovered. For he saw two men leap, grasp both his ears;
felt the dread twist again. So he remained still, and he felt the man
mount again. Then came rumbling in upon his tortured soul again the
insistent voice telling him to rebel further, and to keep on rebelling
until through sheer brute strength he had mastered these unnatural
things. With the grip on his ears released he once more gave heed to
this clamoring within.
He leaped straight up into the air. Returning to earth with
nerve-shattering shock, he whirled suddenly, pitched and bucked, tossed
and twisted, all in mad effort. But the weight clung fast. He whirled
again, and again leaped, leaped clear of the ground, returning to it
this time on stiffened legs. But he could not shake off the weight. He
flung across the corral, twisting, writhing, bucking; flung back
again--heart thumping, lungs shrieking for air, muscles wrenching and
straining; and again across, responding, and continuing to respond, to
the ringing voice within, like the king of kings that he was. But he
could not dislodge the weight.
"Great!" yelled an excited spectator.
"See that hoss sunfishin'!" burst out another.
"An' corkscrewin'!" added a third.
"Better 'n a outlaw!" amplified a fourth.
And now the first again: "Stay with him, Alex! I got two dollars--Oh,
hell!"--this disgustedly. "Come out o' that corner!" Then suddenly he
turned, face red as fire, and apologized to Helen. "I beg your pardon,
Miss Richards," he offered, meekly. But he turned back to the spectacle
and promptly forgot all else in his returning excitement. "Shoot it to
him, Alex!" he yelled. "Shoot it; shoot it! He's a helldinger, that
hoss!" Frenziedly he then yawped, cowboy fashion:
"Whe-e-e-o-o-o-yip-yip! Whe-e-e-o-o-o-yip-yip!"
Yet Helen--poor Helen!--had not heard. Holding her breath in tense fear,
eyes upon her pride fighting his fight of pride, half hopeful that he
would win, yet fearful of that very thing, she watched the strife of man
skill against brute strength, keyed up almost to snapping-point.
But her horse did not win. Neither did he lose. She saw him take up, one
after another, every trick known to those familiar with horses, and she
marveled greatly at his unexpected knowledge of things vicious. Along
one side of the inclosure, across the side adjacent to it, back along
the side opposite to the second, then forward along the first
again--thus round the corral--he writhed and twisted in mighty effort,
bucking and pitching and whirling and flinging, the while the sun rose
higher in the morning sky. Spectators clambered down from the fence,
stood awhile to relieve cramped muscles, clambered on the fence again;
but the horse fought on; coat necked with white slaver, glistening with
streaming sweat in the sunlight, eyes wild, mouth grim, ears back, he
fought on and on till it seemed that he must stop through sheer
exhaustion. But still he fought, valiantly, holding to the battle until,
with a raging, side-pitching twist, one never before seen, he lost his
footing, plunged to the ground, tore up twenty feet of earth, crashed
headlong into the fence, ripped out three boards clean as though struck
by lightning--lay motionless in a crumpled heap.
The man was thrown. He arose hastily. As he wiped away his perspiration
and grime he saw blood on his handkerchief. He was bruised and bleeding,
and wrenched inwardly, yet when Pat, returning to consciousness, hastily
gained his feet, the man leaped for the horse, sounding a muffled curse.
But he did not mount. And for good reason. For Pat was reeling like a
drunken man--head drooping, fore parts swaying, eyes slowly closing. At
the sight one of the spectators made a plea in Pat's behalf.
"Whyn't you take him outside?" he demanded. "Into the open. This ain't
no place to bust a horse like him! That horse needs air! Get him out
into about three-quarters of these United States! Git ginerous! Git
ginerous! I hate a stingy man!"
Whereupon Helen at last found voice. "Wait!" she cried, evenly, and,
turning, sped along the fence to the gate. Inside the corral she hurried
to the horse and flung her arms around his neck. "Pat dear," she began,
tenderly, "I am so sorry! But it's 'most over with now, if you'll only
accept it! Can't you see, Pat? It is so very necessary to both of us!
For then I myself can ride you! Please, Pat--please, for my sake!"
Whereupon Pat, as if all else were forgotten--all the torture, all the
struggle and shock--nickered softly and nuzzled her hands for sugar and
apples. Suppressing a smile, and accepting this as a good omen, she
stroked him a few times more and then stepped back. "Later, dear!" she
promised and left him, suddenly mindful of spectators. But, though she
felt the blood rush into her cheeks, she did not leave the inclosure.
The horse-breaker stepped resolutely to Pat and, laying firm hands upon
the bridle, waited a moment, eying Pat narrowly, then flung up into the
saddle. Pat's sides heaved, his knees trembled, but he did not resist.
Eyes trained upon his mistress, as if he would hold her to her promise,
he set out peacefully, and of his own volition, across the inclosure.
Further, even though he could not see his mistress now, he turned in
response to the rein and started back across the inclosure. And he kept
this up, holding to perfect calm, breaking into a trot when urged to it,
falling back into a walk in response to the bridle, round and round and
round until, with a grunt of satisfaction, the man dismounted close
beside the girl and handed her the reins.
"Rides easy as a single-footer, Miss Richards," he declared. "Where can
I wash up?"
Which ended Pat's first great lesson at the hands of man. But though
this lesson had its values, since he was destined to serve mankind, yet
he had learned another thing that held more value to him as an animal
than all the teachings within the grasp of men--he had learned the
inevitable workings of cause and effect. His nose was scraped and his
knees were scraped, and all these places burned intensely. And,
intelligent horse that he was, he knew why he suffered these burns--knew
that he had brought them about through his own sheer wilfulness. True,
he was still girt with bands and straps, and in a way they were
uncomfortable. But they did not pain him as the wounds pained him. Not
that he reasoned all this out. He was but a dumb animal, and pure
reasoning was blissfully apart from him. But he did know the difference
between what had been desired of him and what he himself had brought on
through sheer wilfulness. Thus he awakened, having learned this lesson
with his headlong plunge into the fence, and having added to the lesson
of the futility of rebellion the very clear desires of his mistress.
Other and less intelligent horses would have continued to respond to the
ancestral voice within till death. But Pat was more than such a horse.
With the men gone, he revealed his intelligence further. Helen
commissioned Miguel to fit him with her saddle and bridle, then hurried
herself off to the house. Returning, clad in riding-habit and with hands
full of sugar and quartered apples, she fed these delectables to him
till his mouth dripped delightful juices. Then, while yet he munched the
sweets, she mounted fearlessly. Sitting perfectly still for a time to
accustom him to her weight, she then gave him the rein and word. Without
hesitation he responded, stepping out across the inclosure,
acknowledging her guiding rein in the corner, returning to the
starting-place and, with the word, coming to a stop. It was all very
beautiful, rightly understood, and, thrilled with her success, Helen sat
still again, sat for a long time, gazing soberly down upon him. Then she
bent forward.
"Pat," she began, her voice breaking a little with emotion suddenly
overwhelming her, "this begins our real friendship and understanding.
Let us try to make it equal"--she straightened up, narrow eyes off
toward the mountains--"equal to the best that lies within us both."