FELIPE MAKES A DISCOVERY
Pat waited in vain two whole days. Not once did she come to him, not
once did he lay eyes upon her. He became nervous and irritable, and in
this emptiness, equal to that which he had suffered during the three
years she was away, he spent every waking moment in the corral, standing
in his favorite corner, eyes strained toward the house, occasionally
interrupting the silence with a pleading nicker. But his vigil gained
him nothing, his watching remained unrewarded, his outcries went
unanswered. Finally, with the close of each day he would enter the
stable, but only to brood through half the night--wondering, wondering.
But never did he give up hope. Nor had he given up hope now, this
morning of the third day, when, standing in his corner as usual, he
heard a door close in the house.
As always, his heart leaped with expectation, and he gave off a
protracted whinny. Also he pressed close to the fence. This time he was
not disappointed. For coming slowly toward him, with her hands behind
her back, was his mistress.
"Pat," she began, standing close before him, "I have neglected you
purposely. And I did it because I have lost confidence in you." She
regarded him a long moment coldly, then was forced to smile. "I suppose
I feel toward you much as I used to feel toward a doll of mine that had
fallen and cracked its head. I want to shake you, yet I can't help but
feel sorry for you, too." And again she was silent.
Pat shifted his feet uneasily. He did not quite understand all this,
though he knew, despite the smile of his mistress, that it was serious.
Still, encouraged by the smile, he pressed close and asked for sweets,
nuzzling her coat-sweater persistently. But she stepped away. Whereupon
he reached his neck after her, and became almost savage in his coaxing.
Finally he was relieved to see her burst into a peal of laughter.
"Here!" she said, and held out both hands. "I don't care if your head is
broken!"
Glory be! Two red apples in one hand; a whole handful of loaf sugar in
the other! If ever a horse smiled, he smiled then. Also, he promptly
accepted some of the sugar, and, enjoying every delicious mouthful,
reached for an apple. But she drew back. Evidently she was not yet
finished with her reprimand.
"Blissfully unconscious of your behavior that morning, aren't you?" she
continued. "Not a bit ashamed; not one speck regretful!"
Well--he wasn't. He was not a bit ashamed, not one speck regretful.
Merely, he was sweet-hungry. And now that the sugar was gone, he wanted
one of those apples mightily. Finally she gave him one, and then the
other, feeding them to him rapidly, but not more rapidly than he wanted
them. Then she spoke again.
"Pat dear," she said, her voice undergoing change, "I'm troubled. I am
foolish, I know. But I can't help it. I advised that very nice young man
to ride every morning. And he may do it. But if he does, sooner or
later, perhaps the very first morning, we shall meet up there on the
mesa. I want that, of course; but for reasons best known to Easterners,
I don't want it--not yet." She gazed off toward the mountains. "I
reckon, Pat dear," she concluded, after a moment, turning her eyes back
to him, "we'd better ride in the afternoons for a time. Yet the
afternoons are so uncomfortably hot. Oh, dear! What shall I do?"
But the horse did not answer her. All he did was stand very still, eyes
blinking slowly, seemingly aware of the gravity of the situation, yet
unable to help her. Indeed, that her serious demeanor had struck a note
of sympathy within him he presently revealed by once more pressing very
close to her--this in the face of the fact that she had no more sweets
with her and he could see that she had no more. The movement forced her
back, and evidently he perceived his mistake, for he quickly retraced
one step. Then he fell to regarding her with curious intentness, his
head twisting slowly in a vertical plane, much as a dog regards his
master, until, evidently finding this plane of vision becoming awkward,
he stopped. After which Helen playfully seized his ears and shook his
head.
"You're a perfect dear!" she exclaimed. "And I love you! But I'm afraid
we--we can't ride mornings any more--not for a while, at any rate." With
this she left him.
He followed her to the gate, and with reluctance saw her enter the
house. Then he rested his head upon the topmost board and, though he
hardly expected it, waited for her return. Finally he abandoned his
vigil, making his way slowly into the stable. He found both horses in
their stalls, restlessly whisking their tails, offering nothing of
friendliness or invitation. Also he awoke to the depressing atmosphere
here, and after a time returned to the corral, where he took up a stand
in his favorite corner and closed his eyes. Soon he was dreaming.
Sound as from a great distance awoke him. He opened his eyes. Outside
the fence, and regarding him gloatingly, were two swarthy Mexicans in
conversation. This was what had awakened him.
"Bet you' life!" one was saying, the taller man of the two. "Thot's my
li'l' horse grown big lak a house--and a-fine! Franke, we gettin' thot
_caballo_ quick. We--"
A door had closed somewhere. The men heard it and crouched. But neither
abandoned the ground. After some little time, hearing nothing further to
alarm them, they set out along the fence to a rear door in the stable.
It was not locked, and they lifted the latch and tiptoed inside. Up past
the stalls they crept with cat-like stealth, gained the door leading
into the corral, came to a pause, and gazed outside. The horse was still
in his corner, his black coat glistening in the sunlight, and Felipe
once more burst into comment, excited, but carefully subdued.
"A-fine! A-fine!" he breathed, rapturously. "He's lookin' joost lak a
circus horse! You know, Franke," he added, turning to the other, "I haf
see thee pictures on thee fences--" He interrupted himself, for the man
had disappeared. "Franke!" he called, whispering. "You coom here. You
all thee time--" He checked himself and smiled at the other's
forethought. For Franke was emerging from a stall, carrying a halter.
"Good!" he murmured. "I am forgettin' thot, _compadre_!" Then once
more he turned admiring eyes upon the horse. "Never--_never_--haf I
see a horse lak thot! Mooch good luck is comin' now, Franke! Why not?"
They stepped bravely forth into the corral. Yet their hour had been well
timed. The house was still, quiet in its morning affairs, while the
countryside around, wrapped in pulsating quiet, gave off not a sound.
Cautiously approaching the horse, Franke slipped the halter into
position, the while Felipe once more uttered his admiration. He was a
little more direct and personal, however, this time.
"Well, you black devil!" he began, doubling his fist under Pat's nose.
"You haf run away from me thot time, eh? But you don' run away
again--bet you' life! I got you now and I keep you thees time! I haf
work for you--you black devil--mooch work! You coom along now!"
They led the horse into the stable, down past the stalls, and out the
back door. Then they set out toward the river trail, and, with many
furtive glances toward the house, gained it without interruption.
Felipe's lumber rigging and team of scrawny horses stood in the shade of
a cottonwood, and Franke made the horse fast to the outhanging end of
the reach. When he was secure both men seated themselves just back of
the forward bolster, one behind the other, and Felipe sent his horses
forward. Safely out of the danger zone, though Felipe entertained but
little fear of the consequences of this act, believing that he could
easily prove his ownership, he became more elated with his success and
burst out into garrulous speech.
"You know, Franke," he began, with a backward glance at the horse
ambling along peacefully in the dust, "thot _caballo_ he's strong
lak a ox. He's makin' a fine horse--a _fine_ horse--in thees wagon!
He's--" He suddenly interrupted himself. "Franke," he offered,
generously, "for thees help I'm takin' off five dolars on thot debt now.
You know? You haf never pay me thot bet--thee big bet--thee one on thee
wagon and thee horses. And you haf steal seex dolars, too! But I'm
forgettin' thot, now, too. All right?"
The other nodded grateful acceptance. Then, as if to show gratitude
further, he very solicitously inquired into the matter, especially with
reference to Felipe's discovery of the horse after all these years. They
were clattering across the mesa now, having come to it by way of a long
detour round the town, and before replying Felipe gave his team loose
rein.
"Well," he began, as the horses fell back into a plodding walk, "I haf
know about thot couple weeks before. I haf see thees _caballo_ in
town one mornin', and a girl she is ridin' heem, and everybody is
lookin', and so I'm lookin'." He paused to roll a cigarette. "And then,"
he continued, drawing a deep inhale of smoke, "I haf know quick lak
thot"--he snapped his fingers sharply--"quick lak thot"--he snapped his
fingers again--"there's my _potrillo_ grown big lak a house! And
so--"
"But how you knowin' thot's thee horse?" interrupted the other. "How you
knowin' thot for sure?" Evidently Franke was beginning to entertain
grave doubts concerning this visit to the corral.
But Felipe only sneered. "How I know thot?" he asked, disdainfully. "I'm
joost tellin' you! I know! Thot's enough! A horse is a horse! And I know
thees horse! I know every horse! I got only to see a horse once--once
only--and I'm never forgettin' thot horse! And I'm makin' no meestake
now--bet you' life!" Nevertheless, flicked with doubt because of the
gravity of the other, he turned his head and gazed back at the horse
long and earnestly. Finally he turned around again. "I know thot horse!"
he yelled. "And I'm tellin' you thees, Franke," he went on, suddenly
belligerent toward the other. "If you don' t'ink I'm gettin' thee right
_caballo_, I have you arrested for stealin' thot seex dolars thot
time! Money is money, too. But a horse is a horse. I know thees horse.
Thot's enough!" Yet he relapsed into a moody silence, puffing
thoughtfully on his cigarette.
Behind the outfit, Pat continued along docilely. In a way he was
enjoying this strange journey across the mesa. It was all very new to
him, this manner of crossing, this being tied to the rear of a wagon,
and he found himself pleasantly mystified. Nor was that all. Not once
had he felt called upon to rebel. In perfect contentment he followed the
rigging, eyes upon the outhanging reach, for he was intent upon
maintaining safe distance between this thing and himself. Once, when
they were mounting up to the mesa, he had met with a sharp blow from
this projection--due to sudden change of gait in the horses--and he only
required the one lesson to be ever after careful. As for the men
forward, he knew nothing of them, and never, to his knowledge, had seen
them before. But in no way was he concerning himself about them. Nor,
indeed, was he worrying over any part of this proceeding. For in his
dumb animal way he was coming to know, as all dumb servants of man come
to know, that life, after all, is service, a kind of self-effacing
series of tasks in the interests of others, and that this ambling along
behind the vehicle was but one of the many kinds.
"And," suddenly broke out Felipe, who, having threshed the matter out to
his satisfaction, now felt sure of his position once more, "I haf follow
thees girl and thee horse. I haf see thee place where she's goin'--you
know." And he winked foxily. "And then I haf coom to thees place, two,
three times after thee horse. But always thee man is there. But thees
mornin' I'm seein' thot _hombre_ in town, and so I haf go gettin'
you to coom help me. But you haf steal seex dolars. I'm forgettin'
thot--not! And if you say soomt'ing to soombody soomtime, I'm havin' you
arrested, Franke, for a t'ief and a robber--same as I ought to arrest
thot Pedro Garcia oop in the canyon."
Franke maintained discreet silence. But not for long. Evidently he
suddenly thought of a point in his own favor.
"You' havin' good luck thees time, Felipe," he declared, tranquilly,
"especially," he hastened to add, "when I'm t'inkin' of thee halter.
Without thee halter, you know, you don' gettin' thees _caballo_."
Felipe ignored this. "I haf need a horse," he went on, thoughtfully.
"Thee mot'er of thees black fel'r--you know, thot's thee mot'er--she's
gettin' old all time. She's soon dyin', thot _caballo_. Thees black
horse he's makin' a fine one in thees wagon." Franke said nothing. Nor
did Felipe speak again. And thus, in silence, they continued across the
mesa and on up the canyon to the little adobe in the settlement. Arrived
before the house, Franke quickly disappeared in the direction of his
home, leaving Felipe to unhitch and unharness alone. But Felipe cared
nothing for this. He was supremely happy--happy in the return of the
long-lost colt, doubly happy in the possession of so fine a horse
without outlay of money. Whistling blithely, he unhitched the team, led
them back into the corral, returned to the wagon again. Here, still
whistling, he untied the black and escorted him also into the inclosure.
Then, after scratching his head a long moment in thought, he set out in
the direction of the general store and a bottle of _vino_.
As the man disappeared, Pat, standing uncertainly in the middle of the
corral, followed him with a look in his eyes that hinted of vague
memories that would not down. And well he might be flicked with vague
memories. For he was at last returned to the brief cradle of his
babyhood.
Late that same afternoon, Helen, attired in riding-habit, left the house
for her first afternoon canter. As she slowly crossed the _patio_,
she noted the absence of Pat from his usual corner, but, assuming that
he was inside the stable, called to him from the gate. But she received
no answering whinny. Slightly worried, she entered the corral and
stepped to the stable door, and again sounded his name. Again she
received no answering whinny. She entered the stable, walked past the
stalls, peered in at each with increasing alarm. Only the saddle-horse
and the family horse met her troubled eyes. She stood for a moment
dismayed, then once more she sounded the horse's name. But, as before,
she received no answering whinny.
Puzzled, perplexed, troubled with misgivings, yet refusing to believe
the worst, she fell to analyzing the thing. She knew that since coming
to the ranch Pat at no time had been outside the corral save in her
charge. Also she recalled that only a short hour or two before she had
given him sweets and had talked with him. Nor could the horse have
strayed out of the inclosure, because she remembered that the gate was
latched when she had reached it. All these facts flashed across her as
she stood with grave eyes sweeping the stable. Finally she stepped back
to the door and gazed out into the sunlight of the corral; but, as
before, the inclosure was empty and silent, and now, somehow,
forbidding. She called again--called to the horse, called to the
Mexican. But again came only the echo of her voice, sounding hollow and
solemn and plaintive through the stable.
Suddenly her heart stopped beating. She remembered that the hostler had
left for town on foot early in the morning. And now her fears broke
bounds. The horse was gone! Some one had come in Miguel's absence. Her
Pat had been stolen! He was gone for ever out of her life! Standing a
moment, trembling with bitterness, she darted out of the stable, out of
the corral, across the _patio_. She sped into the house and her
father's study, caught up the receiver of the telephone.
And then, after a long time, the connection. And her father's voice. And
her frantic inquiry. And the Judge's smiling reply. And her recital of
the facts--pleading, pitiful, almost whimpering. And now the Judge's
serious rejoinder. And then her imperious request that he come home. And
the Judge's regretful reply--could not on account of pressing matters.
And then her tearful, choking outburst into the transmitter! And now
suddenly the wires crossing and a strange voice demanding that she get
off. And with it her utter collapse. She whirled away from the
telephone, flung herself down upon a couch, and gave way to a wild
outburst of tears.
The thing _was_ pitiful. The horse had occupied a very big place in
her life. And because that place now was empty, and because she saw no
promise of its ever being filled, she sobbed wretchedly a long time.
Then, rising quietly, she ascended the stairs to her room. Here she sank
into a chair, one that overlooked the corral, and began an analysis of
the case, taking the affair up from the very first day of Pat's coming
into her life. She did not go further than that. Woman that she was,
endowed with strongest intuitions and insight, she knew she had sounded
the mystery of his disappearance, had sounded it as clearly as though
she had been present.
"Pat's rightful owners have found him and put in their claim!" She got
up and began to pace the floor. "I know it," she declared with
conviction. "I know it as well as I know I'm in this room. Pat--Pat has
been--been taken and--and--" Tears choked back her words. Again she
turned to her bed and gave way to a paroxysm of grief.
Her tears lasted until sleep mercifully descended. And thus she lay,
outstretched and disheveled, until the sun, slanting across the room,
settled its mellow rays upon her. And even though the touch was light
and gentle and somehow sympathetic, it awoke her. She rose and hurried
to a window. Out in the corral all was quiet. She dropped into a chair
and turned her eyes to the east--out over the mesa to the distant
mountains. The mountains were draped in their evening purple, which
seemed to her like mourning for her lost happiness--a happiness that
might have been hers always with the horse.