IN THE WASTE PLACES
Pat well knew that this new experience was a strange thing. The trip
with the hostler, the unusual hour of day, the appearance of his
mistress's friend, the stranger out of the night, the hurried departure
from the hotel, all told him that. But whether it was right or wrong, he
did not know. His mistress had quite sanctioned his leaving the corral,
and so all things developing out of that must have her sanction
also--thus worked his instincts. So not once had he rebelled. Nor was he
rebelling now. And yet--and this was his emotional conflict--within him
was a vague feeling that he should rebel, should kick, buck, toss, and
pitch, and throw off this stranger. It grew upon him, this feeling,
until, in a section of town unfamiliar to him, he decided to give way to
it, to take a chance, anyway, of unseating this man and dashing back
into that part of town familiar to him. But he did not. Suddenly a
soothing voice restrained, the voice of his rider, which swept away for
a time all thought of rebellion.
"So you're Pat!" the man said, and, though his voice was gentle, and
perhaps kindly, as Pat judged the human voice, he yet somehow did not
like the owner of it. "Well, they hain't lied to me, anyway," went on
the voice. "You're one nice piece of horseflesh!"
That was all. But somehow it dispelled all discontent within Pat.
Thereafter he thought only of his task, which was that of holding to a
devious course through winding alleys and streets well under rein, until
he found himself on the river trail and heading south through a section
not unfamiliar to him. Then his interest only quickened.
As he went on, it came to him that he rather liked this traveling
through the gloom of night. It was a new experience for him, and the
trail, familiar to him, yet somehow not familiar, offered much of
interest. Ranch-houses, clumps of trees, soft-rustling fields of
alfalfa, looming up before or beside him, taxed his powers of
recognition as the stars in the heavens, becoming ever more overcast,
withdrew, and with them the moon, leaving the earth and its objects
finally mere tragic outlines. These objects, rising silently before him,
gave him many fitful starts, and seemed to forbid this night-incursion.
But he held to the trail, for the most part in perfect contentment,
enjoying his unwonted call to duty, but wondering whither it was leading
him.
This contentment did not last. It broke as he found himself rounding a
bend which he recognized as leading to the river bridge. The change came
not through the flicking of his conscience like his former feeling, but
through sudden awakening to physical discomfort. For a time he did not
know what it was--though he had questioned the new grip on the reins,
the rider's seat, his weight. There it was. The man's weight. Miguel had
been heavy, of course, but Miguel's seat had been short-lived. This man
must weigh fully as much as Miguel, and twice as much as his mistress,
and he had been on his back now a long time. There came another
something. As Pat grew aware of the weight it seemed to become heavier,
so he decided to seek relief of some sort. He dropped back into a walk,
grimly taking his comfort into his own control. And, half expecting that
the man would force him into a canter again, he continued at a walk. But
neither by word nor movement did the man show that he noticed the
change. So Pat settled to his task again, once more enjoying quiet
satisfaction.
But neither did this last. He soon found another cause for
dissatisfaction. He found it because, unconsciously, he was looking for
it. He found it this time in the tight grip on his reins, which was
setting up a sore chafing in the corners of his mouth. His mistress had
never held him so tightly. The result of it, together with his other
discomfort, was that he became sullen and antagonistic, and, descending
the slight grade to the bridge, he determined to resist. And resist he
did. He came to a sudden stop, threw down his head, pitched and bucked
frantically. His efforts carried him all over the trail, and once
dangerously near the edge and the turbulent waters below. But he found
himself unable to throw off the weight.
"Guess maybe--I made--a slight--mistake!" exploded the rider, clamping
his knees against Pat. "But go--go to it--old trader!"
Pat accepted the challenge. For this he knew it was. He leaped and
twisted; returned to earth with a jolt; pitched and tossed and bucked.
And he kept it up, fighting grimly, till he discovered its futility,
when he stopped. A moment he stood, breathing heavily, then he set out
across the bridge, whisking his tail and wriggling his ears, all in
spirited acceptance of reluctant defeat.
He did not attempt further rebellion. Slow-kindling respect stirred
within him for this man upon his back--the respect but not love which
one entertains toward the mighty, and he gained the end of the bridge
and turned south along the trail, partly reconciled. Yet he had not
rebelled in vain. The grip on his bit no longer annoyed him, and though
the weight still remained heavy, somehow it seemed more endurable now
through some cause which he could not determine--probably his increased
respect for it. So he trotted along, amiably disposed toward all the
world, pleasantly anticipatory of the immediate future, ears and eyes
alert and straining toward all things. On his left the river gurgled
softly in the desert stillness--a stillness sharply broken. From afar
off came a strange call, the long-drawn howl of a coyote. It was not
alone. Instantly from a point dead ahead rose another, grooving into the
echo of the first in a staccato yelp. Then the first opened up with a
choking whine that lifted steadily into an ecstatic mating-call, and Pat
saw a black something, blacker even than the night, leap against the
far, faint skyline, dangle seemingly a trembling moment, then flash from
view across the desert.
Which was but one of the many incidents that served to hold his interest
and increase his alertness as he fox-trotted along the road. Nor was one
of them without its informing value. For this was his first night
journey, and what he saw now would remain with him vividly, helping him
to become as successful on night trails as he was now by day.
Something else came to him out of the darkness. It was off to his
distant right and well back from the river. It was a tiny gleam of
light, shining out of the density of the desert. He watched it with
studied interest. It glowed like a cat's eye, and, fascinated, quietly
speculative, he kept his eyes upon it until, as he turned a bend in the
trail, he saw another light flash into view close beside the first, and
equal to it in brilliancy. Suddenly, watching these lights, his interest
leaped higher. This was his destination. He instinctively knew it. And
presently he was certain of it, for his master, urging him to the right,
now sent him along a narrow path that led straight toward the lights.
Within a very few moments Pat found himself before a hulk of an adobe.
It was a long, rambling structure, somehow forbidding, and he blinked as
he stared with faint apprehension at the lamplight streaming out of two
windows. Directly the man dismounted and, making the reins fast to a
post, walked toward the house. For a moment Pat saw his tall figure
silhouetted in the doorway, to the accompaniment of a quiet chorus of
greetings from within, then he saw the door close upon him, and
immediately afterward a hand appear at the windows and draw down the
shades. And now he felt a great loneliness creep over him, slowly at
first, then somehow faster as he heard voices within sink from a
cheerful note of greeting to a low rumble of discord.
He began to take heed of objects close around him. He discovered, now
that all light was shut off, that he was not alone. To his left stood
two horses, with heads drooping, legs slightly spread, reins dangling,
quiet and patient in their mute waiting. Promptly with the discovery he
took a step in their direction, intent upon establishing friendship. But
he found himself checked with a jerk. For an instant he did not
understand this. Then he remembered that his reins were tied, and
because his mistress never had deemed this necessary he came to feel a
kind of irritation, though he made no attempt to force his freedom. Yet,
keeping his eyes upon the other horses, he saw that they themselves were
free to come and go, that their reins were dangling on the ground. And
now he realized that he was under suspicion. He knew what that was from
long association with the Mexican hostler, and, smarting under it, he
determined to show his new master, and that before many hours had
elapsed, he as well as these others was capable of trust.
The door flung open and three men filed out. A fourth remained standing
on the threshold, holding up a smoking lamp. Other than the tread of
heels no sound accompanied their appearance, no comment, no laughter, no
farewells. This made a deep impression upon him, and with further
misgivings he watched the men descend the few loose steps and make for
the horses, his own master, the tallest of the men, coming slowly toward
him. A moment of gathering reins, then all mounted, and one, a squat,
powerfully built man, evidently the leader, turned in a southwesterly
direction, riding off in the engulfing darkness, heading away from the
river. Seeing this, Pat stepped out after him, pressing close upon the
heels of his horse, conscious that the third horse, ridden by a little
man, was crowding him for second position. But he held stubbornly to his
place, and in this place set out along an unmarked trail. He covered
mile after mile at a fox-trot, mile after mile in absolute silence,
until faint rays of dawn, streaking the sky above a ridge to the east,
surprised him into realization of the quick passage of night and his own
prolonged duty therein. It was all very strange.
Daylight followed swiftly. From a dull lead color the sky immediately
above the ridge, which stretched away interminably north and south, gave
way to a pink indescribably rich and delicate. Steadily this pink crept
over the heavens, rolling up like the gradual unfolding of a giant
canvas, dragging along in its wake hues verging toward golden yellow,
until the whole eastern sky, aflame with the light of approaching day,
was a conflagration of pinks and yellows in all their manifold mixtures,
promising, but not yet realizing, a warmth which would dispel the spring
chill left by the long night. Then, with the whole east blazing with
molten gold, there came the feeling of actual warmth, and with it the
full radiance of day--bringing out in minute detail rock and arroyo and
verdant growth, and an expanse of desert unbroken by the least vestige
of animal life. At this absence of all that which would suggest the
presence of life--adobes, corrals, windmills--Pat awoke again to vague
uneasiness and fell to pondering his future under these men, whom he now
instinctively knew pursued ways outside the bounds of the civilization
of his past.
A voice behind, presumably that of the little man, interrupted the
protracted silence. It was high-pitched.
"How's that hoss a-holdin', Jim?"
Pat felt a slight twitch on the reins. Evidently the man had been in
deep thought, out of which the voice had startled him. Directly he made
answer.
"I got quality here, Glover--I guess. Can't never tell, though. He's a
good horse, but he mayn't pan out good for me."
There was further silence.
"Johnson," went on the high-pitched voice again, after a time, "did ye
git what Zeke said about the country down there?"
But the leader seemed not to hear. Straight as an arrow, bulking large
upon a little gray mare, he moved not the fraction of an inch with the
question. Whereupon the little man, after muttering something further
about Zeke, relapsed into silence.
Suddenly Pat stumbled and fell to his knees. He quickly regained his
feet, however, and resumed the steady forward grind. And grind it now
was becoming. His legs burned with a strange distress, his eyes ached
from loss of sleep. Throughout his body was a weariness new to him. He
was not accustomed to this ceaseless fox-trotting. He could not recall
the time when, even on their longest excursion, his mistress had forced
him like this. She had always considered him to the extent of granting
him many blissful periods of rest. He found himself wanting some such
consideration now. He felt that he would like to drop into a walk or to
burst into a canter, knowing the relief to be found in any change of
gait. But this was denied him. Yet, since the other horses gave no sign
of weariness, each appearing possessed of endurance greater than his
own, he refrained, through a pride greater even than his distress, from
making of his own accord any change in his gait.
Toward noon, as he was brooding over another distress, one caused by
gnawing hunger, he felt his master draw down. Also, the others came to a
stop. With the men dismounted, he swept eyes over the scene. But he saw
nothing that appeared to warrant pause. The place was dead and desolate,
barren of all that which had invariably met his gaze when pausing with
his mistress. But when one of the men began to build a fire, while the
others flung off light saddle-bags from the little gray and the
sorrel--an exceptionally rangy horse--he came in a way to understand.
Further, with the fire crackling pleasantly and his bridle and saddle
removed, he understood fully the cause of this halt. It was time to
feed; and, raging with hunger, he forgot all other distress in the
thought that now he would have a generous quantity of food, which he
believed was due him, since he had more than earned it in his prolonged
service through the night. Indeed, so certain was he of reward, he
prepared himself for sugar and quartered apples, and, with mouth
dripping saliva, stood very still, eyes following every move of his new
master.
But he was doomed to bitter disappointment. Instead of sugar and
quartered apples, his master tied a rope around his neck and, with a
friendly slap, left him to his own devices. Wondering at this, he gazed
about him--saw that the other horses were grazing. Disappointed,
fretful, stung into action by hunger pangs, he set out in their
direction, curious to learn what it was they were feeding upon so
eagerly. But, as had happened the night before, he found himself checked
with a jerk. He did not like it, for it made him conscious again of his
master's suspicions. So he turned a sour gaze upon his unrestricted
companions until, forced to it by inner yearnings amounting to acuteness
now, he himself lowered his head and fell to grazing.
But he found it all too insufficient. His stomach urgently demanded
grain and alfalfa. And he yearned for a little bran-mash. But there were
none of these. He saw not even a tiny morsel of flower to appease his
inner grumblings, and finally, lifting his head in a kind of disgust, he
ceased to graze altogether. As he did so, the men made ready to resume
the journey, replacing bridles and saddles and saddle-bags. Pat found
himself hopeful again, believing that with the end of this prolonged
service, which in view of the distance already traversed must be soon,
he would have those things for which his body and soul cried out. And
thus he set forth, occupying his former place in the order of advance,
moving, as before, at a fox-trot and amid silence from the men. He was
still hopeful of better things to come. But it was all a drear
experience.
The grind began to tell upon him. As he trotted along, thirst-stricken,
miserably nourished, weary from loss of sleep and this ceaseless toil,
he sought frankly for cause to rebel, as he had done in the first hour
of this strange call to new duty. And he found it. He found it not only
in the man's weight, and the infrequent contact of spurs, and the tight
grip on the reins, all as on that first occasion, but he found it as
well in other things--in the dust thrown up by the little gray ahead, in
the sun's rays slanting into his eyes from the west, in the scorching,
blistering heat of this same ruthless orb beating down upon his back.
Suddenly, cost him what it would, he dropped out of the fox-trot into a
walk, prepared to fight for this change of stride to the last breath.
He did not hold to it, however, even though his master, curiously
enough, permitted him the change. Pride asserted itself, and after a
time, of his own volition, finding the gap between himself and the
others much too wide to please him, he broke into a canter and quickly
closed the gap, crowding back into his place between the other two
horses. That was all of rebellion, though the mood still remained.
Bitter, disappointed, nervous, and irritable, he continued forward,
wanting things--wanting food and water, wanting sounds of voices,
wanting a respite from this unnerving grind. But he made no effort to
get them or to show that he wanted them. And he knew why he maintained
this attitude of meek acceptance. He was too weak to enforce his
demands. He knew that it required energy to buck and pitch, and he knew
that he lacked this energy. So he continued along in sullen resignation
until, accepting the hint of his instincts, he closed his eyes. This
brought relief, and after a time, his movements becoming ever more
mechanical, he found himself adrift upon a peaceful sea of semi-coma,
oblivious to all trouble--hunger pangs, thirst, weariness. When he
returned to full consciousness, somewhat refreshed and fit for farther
distances, he found the sun well down the western sky, the cool of
evening wrapping him about in delightful zephyrs, and he was still
keeping his place between the two horses.
Dusk found him in a small oasis. His master slipped to earth, and with
relief Pat gazed about him. He saw a clump of trees, and in their
depths, glinting out at him between the trunks, a shimmering pool of
water. Also, near these trees, on the edge of the grove, he saw a shack
made up of rough logs. But he was interested only in the pool, and, when
his master removed his saddle, eagerly and with a soft nicker he stepped
toward it. But the man jerked him back. So he waited, realizing that he
had been hasty, till his bridle was removed, when again he stepped
toward the pool. But again he was jerked back, this time by a firm grip
on his forelock. So again he waited while the man placed the
disagreeable rope around his neck. With this secure, he found himself
led into the grove, where he soon was quenching his raging thirst, and
where, after drinking, he felt more kindly not only toward the man, but
toward the whole world. When he was conducted back into the open, and
the end of the rope made fast to a stake, he lifted his voice in a
shrill nicker proclaiming his satisfaction. Then he stood very still,
watching the man enter the shack, utterly absorbed in getting that
long-delayed reward of sugar and quartered apples.
But again he waited in vain. The man did not reappear; indeed, none of
the men reappeared. So after a time, swallowing his disappointment, he
turned his eyes upon the other horses. As at noon, they were grazing
industriously, and he knew what was in store for him. He regarded them a
long moment, trying to bring himself to graze also, but finding that his
knowledge of better things would not permit him. Yet there was one
pleasant surprise. The little gray, sounding a soft whinny, made her way
slowly toward him. This was unexpected friendliness, for the horse had
seemed hostile earlier, and he promptly showed his pleasure by licking
her neck with lavish attention. And though he found her coat gritty with
dust, he continued this generous attention till she lowered her head and
resumed her grazing. This reminded him of his own fierce hunger, and he
promptly lowered his own head, following her example with a kind of
gratitude, and fell to grazing with her, finding in her interest the one
ray of light in all the darkness of his distress and continued
disappointment. And thus he fed, keeping with her to the limits of his
tether, until, soon after the candlelight had whisked out in the shack,
she lay down in the yielding sand with a restful sigh. Pat understood
this, but he regarded it with uncertainty, knowing that he himself with
the coming of night always had protection in a stable. Then, deciding
that it was right and fitting, especially as the sorrel also sank into
the sand, he himself bent his knees and lay down to rest in the warmth
of the desert.
But his lesson in the open was not yet fully learned. Next morning, with
the other horses astir, and with the men moving in and out of the shack,
he saw his master coming toward him. Reaching him, the man untied the
rope from the stake, led him to the pool of water, and permitted him to
drink. Then he returned him to the open, and there removed the rope from
him entirely. But despite this he found that he was not free from
suspicion. For now the man tied a short rope around his fore ankles, and
strode back into the shack, leaving him, as before, to his own devices.
Half expecting the man to return with sugar and apples, Pat watched him
take himself off with mild anticipation. But as the man did not return
he bethought him after a time of his sterner hunger, and took prompt
step in the direction of a tuft of grass. Instantly he felt a sharp
twitch at his ankles and fell headlong. For a moment he lay dazed,
utterly at a loss to understand, thrashing about frantically in futile
effort to regain his feet. Then he became calm again, and brought
craftiness instead of brute force to bear upon the trouble. He regained
his feet. Then he studied the cause of the disaster, and finally stepped
out again, cautiously now, having learned his lesson. So he did not
stumble. But he did feel the check around his ankles again. Steadying
himself, he saw clearly the cause of his previous discomfiture, but he
did not accept it as defeat. Casting his eyes toward the other horses,
he awoke to the fact that they, as well as himself, were hobbled.
Watching them, studying them, he finally saw one rear, strike out with
his front legs, and draw his hind legs up to meet the advance. So that
was it! He now knew what he himself must do. Feeling out his hobbles
carefully, gathering quick courage the while, he himself at length
reared, struck out with fore legs, followed up with hind legs, and found
himself directly over the tuft of grass. This was pleasant, and he
promptly began to nibble it, finding it no less toothsome--perhaps more
toothsome--for the effort. And when he had finished this he gazed about
for others, and, seeing others, moved upon each in turn as he had moved
upon the first, rearing and striking, following it with hind legs,
rearing and striking again, following again with hind legs, all
successfully. And so he learned his second great lesson in the open.
Thus he began his life in the desert. Fraught as it was with much
discomfort, both spiritual and physical, he yet found much of interest
in it all, and he was destined to find in it, as time went on, much more
of even greater interest. And in the days which followed, and the weeks
and months following these, because he showed that he was willing and
anxious to learn, to attune himself to the life, he aroused in all who
came in contact with him, men as well as horses, an esteem and affection
which made life smoother and more pleasant for him than it might
otherwise have been.